Right Blood
by Chocolateveela
Summary: Someone is brutally murdering Muggle-borns. When Hermione starts dating Draco Malfoy, she thinks she might be targeted next. Can she, along with the Aurors and Draco solve the murder mystery before it's too late? Warnings:EWE? Sexual content. Language.
1. Blind Date

**Disclaimer**: Any/all recognizable characters, spells, storyline belong to JK Rowling. No profit is being made.

**Note**: This is my newest story. I encourage constructive criticism and compliments, I learn from it all. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 1: Blind Date**

I had a bad feeling about tonight.

It's true I could be worrying over nothing. Ron always joked that I was going to give myself heart failure if I kept worrying the way I do. Someone has to worry. Someone has to think realistically. And realistically, tonight could go badly.

For one thing, I was already late.

A special edition of the Evening Prophet had distracted me. Three members of Rightblood, a hate group dedicated to purifying the Wizard race by any means necessary, had been captured. They only still existed because they masqueraded as a political group rallying for fair treatment of purebloods. According to an ancient decree of the Ministry they had every right to do so. No one had been able to find any crime done in the name of Rightblood, until now.

Three Muggle-born women had gone missing. The women all had one thing in common; they were married to prominent pureblood wizards. Two of them had been found, dead and mutilated. The third woman is still missing. I remembered Harry telling me they had a promising lead. I guess it had been really promising. The three suspects had insisted that they acted alone. Of course their memories had been modified and there was no evidence to prove otherwise. It wasn't surprising that I had been distracted.

Now, I stared into my bathroom mirror, fussing with a tube of mascara. It wasn't that I didn't know how to apply mascara. It was quite simple; smear black paste onto one's eyelashes with a wiry, pointed brush. That part was easy. The problem was that I had to wear it at all, not to mention the several layers Ginny suggested. She said it was to make my beautiful brown eyes stand out. My eyes stand out just fine on their own, thank you very much. Any man that was really worth my time wouldn't care how well applied my make-up was anyway.

Instead, he would stimulate my mind with his conversation. He would be effortlessly stylish with just a hint of ruggedness. He would be handsome and behave as a perfect gentleman. Such a simple requirements, and yet, either the man that fit that description was already taken or just plain did not exist. Still, here I was allowing myself the torture of a blind date, clinging fiercely to the hope that this might be the one.

This wasn't how I imagined my love life would turn out. I don't anyone thinks they'll be alone at twenty-three. My mum always said things happened for a reason. Maybe. Or maybe some things really suck.

I sighed heavily at the fantasy of my ideal man before pulling myself back to present. I grimaced as I stared at my face in the mirror: light lipstick, heavy eyeliner, uncharacteristically sleek and shiny hair. I barely recognized the face staring back at me, but it would have to do. I adjusted the strapless black cocktail dress, then slid my wand into the tight thigh holster. It too was one of Ginny's suggestions. Great, make a wrong move, and red sparks could fly right into my crotch.

***

The Magick Spot was right in the heart of busy Diagon Alley. Over the years, many of the shops that first helped introduce me to the world of magic no longer existed. Knockturn Alley's dark magic shops had nearly all been forced out of business and the practical shops, like bookstores and apothecaries, that once lined Diagon Alley had moved. Diagon Alley had been rebuilt into a much swankier district with boutiques and restaurants. The Magick Spot pulled much of the new business. It was posh and easily the most expensive restaurant in the area. Anyone who mattered wanted to be seen dining there, especially this weekend … it was the Quidditch World Cup semi-finals. I was the exception. I wanted no such thing.

The magical world was much smaller than the Muggle world in which I had been born. With Muggles, I was anonymous … invisible even. I could be no one at all. Here, along with the Weasleys, and Harry, I was a celebrity. Everyone knew my name, my favorite food and some even knew my wand core. I have a hard time believing it myself; I am famous for trying to stay alive. I do not consider myself a war hero. But I can't complain about the attention. If I were a celebrity, Harry was quite legendary. At least I wasn't on a Chocolate Frog card. He complains about it, but I think he secretly thinks it's quite the honor.

I Apparated to a vacant lot between two shops. As I approached the restaurant, I could tell it was already crowded. On eve of the Quidditch semi-finals, the Spot was packed with famous athletes and their high-end fans. As a matter of fact, my blind date was a Quidditch champion or so I'd been told. Harry had refused to tell me who exactly he had set me up with, insisting that it would be a pleasant surprise. I was probably going to regret it, but I trusted him. Harry is not one to get involved in my love life, so I suspect Ginny put him up to this.

Reporters were lined up outside, eagerly snapping shots of the famous guests as they arrived. Suddenly, I was very aware of my appearance, and wished I had something to at least cover my shoulders. My legs felt wobbly as I stepped toward the restaurant in my black pumps. Ginny had said they were supposed to elongate my legs. My legs are long enough, thank you. I should have worn something I felt more comfortable in. Too late now, I was already here for my date.

My blind date.

I nearly turned back when I realized exactly what I was getting myself into, again. I'd always had that fear that a blind date would take one look at me and then disappear, claiming to have to leave because of some ridiculous story involving a herd of hippogriffs, or something. It's never happened before, but I can never be completely at ease. What if he's short? Worse, what if he's rude? However, I must have wasted too much time thinking because before I knew it, I was past the gauntlet of reporters and being stopped by a snobby, young maitre'd.

He gave me a once-over, clearly not recognizing me. "Good evening, Miss. I'm afraid we are by reservation only this weekend…" He all but shooed me away with his hand.

"Oh, I have a reservation. Granger, party of two." Harry had slyly put the reservations in my name to keep the identity of my date a mystery. Did I mention that I don't like surprises?

The young man lazily flipped through his stack of parchment, and then flushed red as recognition dawned on him. "Oh, Ms. _Hermione_ Granger! Ah yes, I apologize, Ms. Granger. Right this way, Ms. Granger."

I sighed, and followed him as he continued to chatter. I barely heard anything he said. I tried to concentrate on walking in the death traps strapped to my feet. There was barely room to move, and despite my best efforts, I found myself bumping several people as I made my way on unsteady feet.

The host stopped at a private table set for two.

"Your server for this evening will be Randolph. Please enjoy your meal, Ms. Granger."

"Thank you very much," I said as politely as possible. If he said my name one more time I was going to cast a Silencing Charm on him.

The young man flashed one last smile, and then vanished into the crowd.

I sipped from my water glass and looked around. Apparently, I wasn't too late; I had beaten my date after all. That, or he had seen me and taken off. Either way, I was glad that he didn't have to witness me hobbling to the table. Everywhere I looked, beautiful women were flashing their best smiles and batting their eyelashes, all with the hope of snagging the attention of an athlete or some rich aristocrat. I was so engrossed in the scene before me that I hardly noticed a tall, broad-shouldered man approaching my table. He was easily one of the most attractive men I had ever seen. He seemed familiar and then I remembered.

"Oliver Wood?" I made a mental note to thank Harry Potter. Perhaps buy him a gift, something very expensive. Yes, that seemed appropriate.

I stood and offered him my hand. He smiled and reached in for a hug, carefully keeping our bodies an acceptable distance apart. "Hermione Granger. Good to see you."

"Just Hermione is fine."

"All right then, Just Hermione." He smiled again and sat down across from me.

Actually, now that I really saw him, he looked nearly the same as he had at Hogwarts, except even more masculine. Closely cut brown hair, hazel eyes and that dimple …. Only his physique had changed. Even beneath his robes, I could see the outline of solid muscle. He must have spent hours exercising; all the Quidditch in the world would never produce a body so fit. I blushed as I momentarily pictured him engaged in various shirtless fitness activities.

Bringing myself back to the present moment, I continued to sip from my water glass while trying to think of something to say. An awkward silence had descended like a rain cloud upon us. Then something occurred to me.

"Forgive me, but you don't seem surprised to see me. Were you expecting me?"

Even though Oliver and I were not friends during school, I knew of him, if not just because he was one of England's most popular Quidditch players. That's why I had recognized him, but he had recognized me had been a surprise; certainly he hadn't paid that much attention to me at Hogwarts. After all, I was only a child at the time.

"Oh yeah, I knew I would be meeting you. I'm only in London for the remainder of the Quidditch World Cup games, then going back to Ireland. I told Harry I needed a date for this weekend, so he set me up with you. I requested it be a blind date though, didn't want reporters or anything to 'happen' to catch us together." He winked at me.

I blinked several times trying to gather my thoughts. I felt myself getting angry, especially if he meant what I thought he did. "You—think I would set up cameras? Is that what you're saying? Just to be seen with you?"

Perhaps he didn't realize who exactly he was speaking with, for Oliver looked like he'd thought just that. My heart rate picked up a little, and I took a few calming breaths. I didn't want to hex England's best Keeper … especially not this weekend. And then I realized that obviously he didn't know me. Anyone who did would know I shy away from publicity. I was not conceited, but I was a celebrity in my own right. I certainly didn't need to be seen with Oliver Wood to attract unwanted attention. I opened my mouth to tell him just that when a pretty woman with shiny, jet-black hair approached our table.

She angled her body toward Wood, completely ignoring me and the obvious date we were having.

"Oh my, you're Oliver Wood!" Her robes were opened low enough to show the deep 'V' between her breasts. I cringed at the cooing that was apparently the woman's "seductive" voice. "Mr. Wood, could you please take a picture with me?" she asked through a curtain of Glamour-charmed eyelashes.

He apparently didn't think it was rude to indulge the young woman, for he thrust the camera into my hands. For a few seconds I stared, astounded at his nerve. But unwilling to cause a scene and draw attention to myself, I obliged. That didn't stop me from cursing him long and loud in my head.

Fifteen minutes and three scarlet women (as Ron would call them) later, I had decided I couldn't take it anymore. He had barely talked to me and when he did, it was to talk about Quidditch. This had turned out exactly the way I thought it would. Between the next woman and conversation about Quidditch, I thanked Oliver for a wonderful evening and excused myself to the "ladies' lavatory." I felt no remorse. I had decided to ditch him when he'd promised another woman a "spin on his broom" if the Puddlemeres won the cup. Unbelievable. On my way to the exit, I realized the restaurant was even more crowded that it had been when I first arrived. And several old classmates had been added to the crowd. I didn't see any of my friends. I decided to keep my head down and walk as quickly as my shoes would allow, hoping to escape without being seen.

No such luck.

"Hermione Granger?"

I winced, and turned towards the voice I knew to belong to Lavender Brown, but one didn't live with Lavender for six years and leave unable to identify the excited squeal. Under different circumstances, I would have been happy to chat with her. I hadn't seen the girl since the end of the war five years ago, but tonight I just wanted to escape.

"I thought that was you. Don't you look gorgeous this evening," she said as she eyed me from head to toe. I felt the heat flooding my face as I shifted my weight.

I managed a small smile; after all, I did live with her for six years. It was nice to see an old acquaintance. "Thank you, you look great yourself," I finally managed in a voice that I was sure sounded more confident than I felt.

As that dreaded cloud of silence descended upon us when I noticed the other people sitting at the very large table. To her left, I recognized Blaise Zabini, a beautiful, brown skinned wizard sitting with his arm draped around her shoulder. My eyes swept over the rest of the table and nearly all the party had been schoolmates at Hogwarts. There was Pansy Parkinson (who was rolling her eyes in my direction), Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass and Draco Malfoy.

They were all impeccably dressed and looked like a cast of models from a high-fashion magazine. I felt even more out of place. Even though Hogwarts days had long passed for all of us, it did not escape my notice that a former Gryffindor dined with five former Slytherins. More importantly, some of them were sons and daughters of Voldemort supporters.

"Hermione?" Lavender said.

"Oh, sorry. You were saying?"

"Oh, I was asking who you're here with. Harry? Ron? I'd love to see them," she said looking in the direction from which I had come.

"No, no, I'm not with them," I replied.

"Oh," Lavender said, slightly crestfallen. "Well then, who did you come with, you look awfully nice after all."

Just like the mark of a bad liar, my eyes darted to the left, giving me time to think of a story. When I looked away, my eyes fleetingly met with Malfoy's. He wore a knowing smirk and glanced over at Oliver, who now had some new dark-haired woman draped over him. Malfoy looked at me again, still smirking before he raised an eyebrow and turned back to his own date. It lasted mere seconds and I shifted my focus back to Lavender before anyone noticed.

"He's … not here. Actually, I think this place is too crowded. We're going to meet some place else and I'm late. Good seeing you Lav. I really must be going."

"Er—okay. Bye."

I didn't need to look over my shoulder to feel six pairs of eyes glued to my back. Perfect end to a perfect evening. Maybe a good jinx is what Harry deserved after all.

I did everything I could not to break into a run. I reached deep inside my reservoir of confidence and grabbed a handful. Gripping it tightly, I held my head up and walked briskly from the building.

I didn't slow down until I was far enough down the street that the photographers had stopped following me. A single Hermione was less interesting than a drunk Quidditch player with a date. That was fine with me.

I finally made it to a vacant lot. I couldn't wait to be home and out of these awful shoes. I was ready to Disapparate, when something in the shadows caught my eyes. I almost didn't see it, but it was somehow darker, denser than the darkness of night. I stepped closer and thought it _almost _looked like a person. But there was a stillness about the mass that humans don't have, unless … I inched closer, squinted, and realized it was a person. A very dead person.

I spun around, and dry heaved. The smell was putrid, like the body had been in the lot for days. Only, it hadn't. Certainly I would have seen — _this_. I was suddenly grateful that I'd barely had a supper. After several minutes of retching, I finally forced my watery eyes to look at the body. Or what was left of it.

I could tell that it had once been a blonde woman. Beyond that, she was nearly unrecognizable. She was positioned as if someone had just thrown her down, discarded her like a pile of rags. My insides quivered threateningly when I realized that she'd been skinned from the waist up. No, not skinned, but more like her skin had just melted, but she wasn't charred as if she'd been burned. She was all exposed bone and flesh that had began the process of decay.

Crying, I ran all the way back to the restaurant to Floo for help.

***

Law Enforcement and the Portable Healing Unit had arrived in no time. Unfortunately for the woman, there was no rush. She wasn't going anywhere.

They worked quickly because they hadn't wanted the press to publish photos before they could thoroughly inspect the body and scene. Officers snapped pictures and healers carted off the body before the mob of reporters was aware that anything had happened. It helped that we were hidden in the shadows between two buildings. If it had gotten out that a body had been dumped just blocks from the restaurant, I'd imagine things to be much worse.

Lawrence Luchtenstein, Lucky for short, was Chief Investigator for Magical Homicide. He was short and square with very shifty eyes. If I didn't know him, I certainly wouldn't trust him. I'm pretty sure I still don't trust him even though I've known him for years.

He approached me, the third officer to do so in less that an hour. His black hair looked like he'd run his hands through it countless times since he'd arrived.

"Hermione," he said. His mouth was set in a grim line and he pulled out a parchment pad and a self-inking quill.

"Hello, Lucky."

"So?"

I blinked at him. "So, what?"

"So, tell me everything you know."

"I've already told two other officers, certainly they took good notes." I didn't mean to be rude. But, my feet hurt and it was late and I was ready to go home.

He rubbed his eyes with his middle finger and thumb. "I don't have time for this. Just talk."

"Fine, after leaving the restaurant, I came here to Disapparate. I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was—was her and you know the rest."

He didn't look up from what he as writing. "Why did you leave the restaurant so early?"

"I was ready to go home."

He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

"I was on a date, he was a—it was unpleasant and I left early," I said.

"Did you happen to see anyone when you came out here?"

I thought about that. Had I seen anyone? I was too lost in my own thoughts to notice much. Besides the photographers, I wouldn't have noticed a soul. "No."

He nodded slowly. "Did you use this lot to Apparate here?"

"Yes."

"Did you see the body then?"

What kind of question was that? "Of course not, Lucky. If I'd seen her then I would have called the authorities sooner, don't you think?"

He gave me a look that said he didn't.

"So, someone brought the body out here during the time you were inside. Yet, she's been dead for some time. Why do you think someone wanted _you_ to find this body, Hermione?"

"I don't know."

Lucky closed his parchment pad and put his quill away.

"Do you know who she is?" I asked, staring at the spot where she'd once been.

He didn't answer. His lips were a tight line across his face. He did know. Then it occurred to me.

"It's her isn't it? The third woman. She was the Muggle-born."

His silence was answer enough.

"I thought that case belonged to the Aurors? If a dark wizard and not just some regular loony is behind this, they should be here. Why haven't you called for them?"

He asked, "How do you know about that?"

I didn't answer because Harry and Ron could be in deep trouble if they'd been telling regular civilians about the case, even if I was the regular citizen. I was only supposed to have knowledge about a case if it concerned Muggles. So, until the Minister himself talked to me about it, everyone had to remain silent. But, really, he should know.

After a few seconds, I think he did. He gave a hard look, then said, "We — I have notified the Aurors. Harry and Ron were actually inside the restaurant. They went ahead to St. Mungos to have a look at the body."

We stood in silence for a very long time. My friends must have arrived after I left. Oliver and I would have joined them, at some point, but I just hadn't been able to make it that long. Odd to be thinking about a silly date at a time like this. It must be shock.

Had someone planted this body here for me to find it? Not likely, any number of wizards or witches could have used this lot for Apparition. There was no way to ensure than _I _would be the one to find it. I was suddenly tired. I could talk to Harry later.

"Can I go now?" I asked.

He nodded and turned his back as I Disapparated from the scene.

_TBC..._


	2. The New Girl

Disclaimer: all recognizable characters, spells, concepts, etc. belong to JK Rowling. I am making no money from this story...

**Chapter 2: The New Girl**

I rolled over and blinked as slivers of bright sunlight filtered through the slats in the window shades.

It was morning and for a few brief moments, I enjoyed thinking about my plans for the day … until memories of the previous evening night came rushing back to me. Last night had ranked high on my list of worst nights ever. My date with Oliver Wood had been a disaster. During school I had never known much about him, except that Quidditch was his first love that much had not changed. However, I never expected him to be such a wanker. I suppose fame can ruin the best of us.

Oh, and I mustn't forget the dead body.

I hadn't been able to fall asleep until the sky had turned a light shade of gray. The image of the unknown woman had been etched into the back of my eyelids; skinless and lifeless. As a last resort, I'd taken a small bit of dreamless sleep potion in some tea. Only then had I been able to drift off.

I quickly rolled out of bed and opened the shades. The sky was cloudless and blue, a perfect day for a Quidditch game. I knew it wouldn't be too hot — it was late May — the weather was still mild. Too bad I wouldn't be there. I'd planned other ways to spend my day, none of which included going to a crowded, noisy pitch. It wasn't that I didn't fancy Quidditch. I had come to appreciate the sport because all of my friends were fanatics and participants, but it just wasn't the way that I'd want to spend one to seven hours on a Saturday afternoon.

Shuffling into the bathroom, I passed the mirror over the sink and caught a glimpse of myself. My curly, waist length hair fell in thick tangles past my shoulders. A few years earlier, I'd finally decided the weight of longer hair helped with the bushiness. It was time consuming to manage, especially when I tried without magic, but it was a better alternative to chronically bushy hair.

I'd forgotten to remove the heavy eye makeup from the previous night. My skin seemed fairer and eyes seemed larger next to the dark make-up.

An hour later, I was groomed and dressed in a red sleeveless turtle neck and my favorite pair of denims. I wore my hair in a simple ponytail at the back of my head and cleaned off last night's make-up.

I still had two hours before I had to meet my friends so, I decided to skip breakfast and pay a visit to the wizarding library to pass the time.

Hard to believe that Ron and Harry had still gone to the game. At nearly three o'clock in the morning I'd gotten a floo call from Ron. They had just finished inspecting the alleyway, and the body that had been carted off to St. Mungo's. The body was definitely the missing Muggle-born woman. Adrienne Wright had been her name. Ron said they — the Aurors — didn't believe the body had been planted for me to find, but rather just dumped there. They were still trying to trace what had eaten away her skin. I was certain I could find something at the library to help explain. I felt it was the least I could do.

The library was one of the safe and trustworthy places that now helped fill in Knockturn Alley after the Ministry's hand at cracking down on transferring of dark goods. I Apparated to Diagon Alley, and turned off the main road towards Knockturn Alley. It was empty except for two people that stood in front of the apothecary at the end of the street. As I drew closer, I realized the pair was Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass. They seemed to be having some kind of argument, but I was too far away to be sure. Malfoy jerked away when Daphne tried to place her hand on his arm. Finally, he shook his head and walked away.

"Where do you think you're going?" she called after him. He didn't answer.

I suddenly realized that I had been standing there, openly watching this exchange. I quickly ducked into the library. It was probably just a lover's quarrel or something equally uninteresting. I didn't know much about them, but they had been together at the restaurant last evening … it was a safe assumption.

The history of Dark Arts section in the library — provided for educational purposes — seemed like the right place to start looking for something that might be helpful to the case. I found a book on torturing practices. I hadn't thought of that … could they have tortured her to death? The answer was yes. The very nature of her death was outright torture, but I hoped she didn't suffer long. I swallowed a lump in my throat. I sometimes still had nightmares that I was trapped, wandless and writhing in pain as Bellatrix cackled like some sort of mad-hyena . I shivered as I slid the book from its slot on the shelf.

With a sigh, I sat down in the middle of the empty aisle to read.

I found a particularly disturbing passage about dark wizards that would torture prisoners by slowly roasting the skin off of their feet so they couldn't run away. I next found a passage about sorcerers that had once believed in actually wearing the skin of their enemies for protection against evil.

There was an accompanying picture of a scowling, stringy looking wizard. It was both ridiculous and digusting when I realized he looked so withered because his hair was actually the dead and decaying parts of another. Adrienne Wright's body had been dumped in an alley. Though she had been skinned — or something, there was nothing that seemed ritualistic in her death. Just terribly sick.

I was so lost in my morbid train of thought that I barely noticed a pair of shiny black boots slide into my field of vision. I yelped and jumped to my feet, pulling my wand out of habit. The apology for blocking the aisle was nearly out of my mouth, but I stopped short when my eyes met the rather bored looking face of Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy?" I made it a question.

I had not spoken to him directly since Hogwarts. Standing this close to him now was odd and to my disappointment, made me nervous. I didn't know what to say. Was he here to start trouble? That was likely, but if he wasn't and _I_ assumed, then I'd look like a complete arse. I shifted my weight and squeezed the heel of my wand for comfort.

"Granger," he replied. "Catching up on a bit of light reading, I imagine?" His eyes roamed to the book on the floor still opened to the disturbing illustration.

"Did you need something?" I asked. My pulse hadn't slowed one bit and the way he looked at me didn't help.

I didn't particularly care for the mischievous look in his eyes. They alone were slightly alarming. They were gray, and not just flat gray like some old, boring stone. They were light, almost blue at the center, and then darkened until the outer edge was a ring of deepest gray. Alarming and mesmerizing.

He shrugged. "Not particularly. I just noticed you eavesdropping on a private conversation and I thought it'd be polite to say hello."

"I—I …." I sputtered. "I don't know what you're referring to."

A slow, unexpected smirk tugged at his mouth, his eyes squinted in the corners.

"Steady on, Granger. You didn't hear anything of importance anyway." His voice was smug. He folded his arms over his chest, looking pleased with himself. It reminded me of a look I easily recognized on Percy's freckly face.

My heart slowed to a normal pace. He was after nothing but a little ancient childish banter. Annoying, but harmless. I relaxed the death grip that I had on my wand. If I hadn't used it yet, odds were I wouldn't have to.

"I was not eavesdropping on you," I said, slightly bristled by his accusation.

"Of course not." He smiled knowingly, flashing a set of teeth my parents would be proud of.

I rolled my eyes and levitated the book back to the shelf. I did my best to ignore him as I bent to gather the rest of my things from their scattered place on the floor. My fingers felt clumsy, and my arms awkward. He was standing so close to me, I could smell the fresh leather of his shoes and the mild cologne he wore.

I could feel his smirk and watchful eyes prickling between my shoulder blades as I continued to fumble with the notes I'd made. I didn't even bother putting them back into the little purse I'd brought along. A few stacks over, someone dropped a book that hit the ground with a loud _slap_! and I jumped.

I took my frustration out on him.

"Is there any reason why you're hovering over me like a professor?" I snapped in a whisper. But, it was the kind of whisper that made the librarian frown at you over the top of their thick glasses. It wasn't exactly quiet.

If it were possible, I'd say his smirk grew, and it was wildly annoying.

"Actually," he drawled, "I was a bit surprised to find you lurking about Knockturn Alley. Most people still find it unsavory enough. Shouldn't you be at the Quidditch games with your lot."

"So you were being nosy."

"I guess that's something we have in common, yeah?"

"Not really. Besides, what makes you think I want go to the game just because my friends did? We aren't at school anymore, we don't have to do _everything_ together." My arms were beginning to hurt from the books and parchments in my arms.

"I could say the same for you, though. Why aren't you at the game?" I asked him.

He lifted a shoulder in a half-committed shrug. "I left early."

It was on my tongue to ask why, when he pointed to my wand that was now flashing bright red at the tip. I had spelled my wand to flash when it was time to start heading towards Harry's place. I guess now was the time.

"Looks like you're late for something." And for one short second his eyes met with mine. He turned and started walking to the end of the aisle. As he turned the corner he glanced over his shoulder. "Nice talking to you, _Granger_."

And like that, he was gone.

I was confused. First of all, I'd just had a conversation with Draco Malfoy that didn't end in bloodshed and mayhem. Good for us, I suppose. But more importantly, I didn't know why. I had to know the why. Was he flirting? or scheming? or something else all together?

My wand started to keen, and it startled me out of my thoughts. Several people turned ot me with angry eyes. I quickly crammed all my things inside of my purse and hastened from the library to Apparate away.

I was still in a bit of a daze when I absently rapped my knuckles on Harry's door. I didn't have much time to analyze the strange conversation with Malfoy, either. After the first knock, the door opened and as soon as I saw Harry's face, all other thoughts were forgotten.

"Harry James Potter, I should hex your eyebrows off!" I said, unsheathing my wand but keeping it pointed at the floor. Never point a wand unless you mean to use it.

He held up his hands defensively. He looked tired. "Hey now, no need to hex anything off. What are you on about, Hermione?"

"Setting me up with Oliver Wood? He was the biggest sodding prat I've met in a long time."

Suddenly, Ginny and Ron ran into the room, probably to see the cause of the commotion. Ron was still tall and lanky, and wore his hair long. It wasn't my favorite this way; with the fringe hiding his cobalt blue eyes. He too, looked a little worse for wear.

"What's all the noise about? You're going to wake up Lily," he said.

"Yeah what's this about Oliver Wood, now?" Ginny added, her brown eyes glittering with excitement. Even without trying, Ginny was beautiful. She wore a simple blue tank top and a khaki skirt. Her long ginger hair was past her shoulders, straight and shiny with side-swept bangs.

"Her date last night didn't go so well," Harry explained, keeping an eye on my wand as he spoke. Ginny's face fell.

"Didn't go well is an understatement," I said, though I could feel my anger ebbing. I put my wand away and walked further into the room. There was no need to have it out if I wasn't going to use it, and I wasn't. I told them about my night, leaving out certain parts of it.

Harry grimaced. "Ah, I'm sorry, Hermione. Ginny thought you would really like him."

"I figured Ginny had something to do with this …"

"No wonder we didn't see you when we got there," said Ginny. "We're sorry, we…"

Harry nudged her.

"I thought Wood seemed like a nice guy and I know you have a thing for Quidditch players. That's why I asked Harry to set you up with him when he'd told Harry he needed a date."

"I certainly do not have a thing for Quidditch players!"

"Of course you do. We all remember Krum and O'Neal," Ron chimed in.

Fine, I had dated two Quidditch players, but Krum was so long ago it could hardly even count. So, technically one, though I doubt that kind of logic would fly with this crowd. "Two people hardly mean I have a thing for Quidditch players," I said, letting the anger show on my face.

"See, that's why people should mind their own business. I'm sure Hermione is perfectly capable of finding her own dates," Ron said with an air of finality.

His comment surprised, but pleased me. Ron and I had dated briefly after Hogwarts, but we found that we faired much better as mates. He said I was too bossy and I thought he was too temperamental. Being just friends had done wonders for his temper. We had occasionally gotten together for — certain physical benefits, but it had been nearly thirteen months since we'd indulged. Harry and Ginny didn't know and we intended to keep it that way.

"Thanks Ron," I said.

We didn't discuss my personal life any more, but I had a feeling Ginny or Harry wouldn't be trying to set me up again any time soon. After so many failed attempts, it was better to just give up. We didn't talk about the murder either. Harry hated to bring work into his personal life, since it upset Ginny. She respected it. It was Ginny who changed the subject.

"Hermione, guess who I saw last night."

I was pretty sure where this was going, but played along anyway. "Who?"

"That witch from your year that Ron used to date, Lavender Brown." I looked at Ron, and he gave me a look that said Ginny had been dying to say that all day. I smiled.

"Oh, yeah, I saw her too. She was at Malfoy's table."

"Yeah, apparently she's with that guy, Blaise something…"

"Zabini," I said.

"I was actually a little shocked," Harry said. He raised his hands shoulder level, palms facing forward. "But, whatever does it for her, I don't care."

Ginny looked at him. "Neither do I, but it's just so — I just want to know how they got together."

For some reason, I decided not to mention that I'd actually talked with Lavender and Malfoy. There was still an unsatisfied curiosity there and I didn't know whether or not to do anything about it. It was best to just keep quiet until I knew.

Half an hour later, Neville, Luna, and a girl I didn't know, showed up. Neville and Luna had been dating for several months. I suspected they were pretty serious. They were inseparable. They held hands and nearly entered the door abreast, until Neville stepped aside to allow Luna in first. I hugged them both.

"Hello, I remember you from last night," Harry said to the new girl.

She was petite, with short, black hair. She had pouty, full lips and bright blue eyes that looked too big for her tiny face. She looked like a cute little pixie.

She smiled at him and greeted Ginny too. She finally turned to me and stuck out her hand. "My name is Charlotte Bell. You must be Hermione." Her voice matched the look. It was high and clear, like chimes.

"Yeah, I guess I am, nice to meet you."

Ron rolled his eyes and stepped next to her. "I'm glad you came," he said to her at last.

"I'm glad you invited me," she said. She gave a coy smile and worried her bottom lip. It was almost too much to watch.

Fortunately, I didn't have to much longer.

"Are you sure you don't want to come to the game with us, Hermione? I'm sure we could get you in if you wanted to come," Neville said, his forehead creased with concern.

"I'd really like it if you'd come, Hermione," Luna said in her serene voice.

"No, really, it's all right. I don't really feel like the noise." I also didn't feel like being the odd one out and feeling like a jealous, old harpy.

Harry understood. He flashed me one apologetic look before taking off with Ginny and the still sleeping Lily.

***

I had the rest of the weekend for my curiosity about Malfoy to grow into something big and before I knew it I was back to work, though more anxious than usual. I felt wretchedly pathetic for what I was about to do.

I worked on the main level of the Ministry as director for the Department of Muggle Relations. My job was a little bit of everything. It was my job to keep both the Minister of Magic and the Muggle Prime Minister informed about the other. Crime, politics, even holidays, if it involved Muggles, I was there. Magical Law Enforcement, Aurors and Division for the Investigation and Cessation of Dark Artifacts were on the seventh level. Since I never had a reason to go there, if Ron and Harry had time to meet for lunch, they came up to see me. Today, however, was going to be different.

I vaguely remember Ron in his Auror's uniform complaining with disbelief that Malfoy had been hired to join the Division for the Investigation and Cessation of Dark Artifacts.

I hesitated before stepping off the lift. Although no windows existed in the Ministry, level seven somehow seemed darker and colder than the main level. Maybe it was because only authorized persons were allowed this far.

I approached an unremarkable wooden door labeled 'Aurors' and hesitated briefly to compose myself before turning the knob and walking inside.

The Aurors' office was drastically different from the office I worked out of. There were no cubicles or filing cabinets or piles of paper work. There were only rows and rows of tables holding every detection device ever made. Several bells and chimes sounded at my entrance, but none of the Aurors concentrating over a Pensieve in the corner acknowledged my entrance.

Harry materialized from someplace to my right.

"Hermione? Is everything all right?" he asked, the pitch of his voice higher than normal.

"I'm fine. Everything is fine."

"Oh," he said, visibly relaxing. "Well then, what are you doing down here?"

Good question. What was I doing down here? "Oh, well, things were slow in the office; I just came to see what you and Ron were doing for lunch?" Liar. Tell him the truth. Well Harry, I'm stalking Draco Malfoy. It just didn't sound like a great idea.

"Oh, okay, well actually we were going to go to the Burrow, Molly's made some of that chicken salad. Did you want to come?"

"Sure," I said a little too enthusiastically.

Harry smiled. "All right, wait right here, I'll go get Ron."

Ron had eagerly dropped what he was doing. Food took precedence over anything else, in his book. We joined the crowd in the corridor all heading to the lifts.

The three of us and a woman with short brown hair waited in silence for the lift to make its way back down to the seventh level. Ron chatted about the chicken salad and occasionally bounced on the balls of his feet. When doors of the lift finally opened, I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that I'd missed the opportunity to see Malfoy. I didn't like that I was disappointed, either.

Just as the heavy doors were about to close, a hand slid inside, caught the door, and forced it back open. It was Malfoy. He stepped into the space that seemed to expand to accommodate the new passenger. He was attractive his in gray Ministry issued robes and his short hair was neatly combed. I felt both excited and disappointed. Although I had gotten to see him after all, in the presence of Ron and Harry, I would not be able to talk to him today.

Would he want to say anything to me anyway? And more importantly, why did I care? He acknowledged Harry and Ron with a terse nod of the head. He politely nodded at the brunette woman and started to do the same to me. But he did a double take, a bemused expression marring the carefully schooled features of his pale face.

A small part of me took delight in knowing that I could ruffle his composed exterior I had seen the last two times we met. As quickly as our eyes met, it was over. We all rode in silence and I wondered if it were only I that could feel this strange energy vibrating between Malfoy and me. I chanced a glance at Harry and Ron. They were trying so hard to ignore him that even Ron looked grim and stoned faced.

Malfoy was the first off the lift and I was the last. Once out of its confines, the fluttering pace of my heart returned to normal. What was the matter with me? It was Malfoy and I was behaving like a school girl.

I stood in line behind Ron at the Floo. Before I stepped in, I risked a glance in Malfoy's direction. He was staring right at me. I jerked my head forward, directing my gaze straight ahead. Harry looked questioningly at me. I ignored him and hastily announced my destination.

Ten seconds after I spun from the fireplace into the middle of Molly Weasley's living room, Harry followed.

"What was that about?" he questioned.

"What was what about?"

"Harry narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. "That thing between you and Malfoy. He kept looking at you, it was weird."

I felt the heat in my face. Damn Harry and his perceptiveness.

"I don't know what you're on about. You know Malfoy, he hates us. He was probably trying to think of ways to kill me without getting caught," I said flippantly.

"Has he been bothering you?"

That surprised me. But, of course, it would make more sense for Malfoy to want to hurt me than anything else.

"No, I don't know what Malfoy's problem is. Let's go eat, we only have an hour."

I don't think Harry believed me, but he didn't press it any further. I was glad, I needed time to process this new feeling that now joined my curiosity.

Try as I might I could not deny that I was attracted to Draco Malfoy. I soothed myself by saying it was only physical, which was the truth. I didn't really know anything about him and what I did know was enough to turn my stomach.

So, physical lust—it was the only logical explanation.

* * *

Notes:

Yeah, so. This chapter was a beast to write. Don't know why glad its over. Still don't like it. I must thank drcjsnider and eilonwy1 for thier superior beta-ing skills ( they also have superior writing skills, check out some of their stories). I forgot to thank them for the first chapter, too.

Thanks to everyone following this story! Your critiques help me learn and encourage me to be a better writer.


	3. A Woman Scorned

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, magic, etc. belongs to JKR. No money is being made.**

**Chapter 3: A Woman Scorned**

*******

I had not been back to the office more than ten minutes when Percy paid me a visit.

"The Minister of Magic requests your presence at once," he said, without any other greeting.

Percy was looking more and more like Mr. Weasley the older he got. Even with his pristine robes, hair combed within and inch of its life, his always serious face, and incredible pompousness he could never hide those big blue Weasley eyes and awkward lankiness he, along with Ron and Bill, inherited from their father. Oh, and the ginger hair.

"Hello to you too, Percy," I said.

He looked confused for a moment but quickly recovered. "Oh, hello Hermione. I'm sorry but this is not a social call, the Minister really needs to see you immediately."

Of course it wasn't a _social call_. I internally rolled my eyes, but stood anyway. The Minister rarely, if ever sent his Undersecretary to summon me. It must really be important.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was a physically imposing man. He towered at over six feet, and was built like someone that could smack bludgers with his bare hands. He was bald and wore one tiny hoop earring in his left ear. Not what one thinks of when they picture the Minister of Magic, but he had the uncanny ability to be both politically savvy and incorruptible.

"Welcome, Director Granger," he said sliding his dark brown hand over mine. He shook it briefly and pointed to a chair on the other side of his desk. I sat as indicated and Percy remained standing in the corner.

Shacklebolt's normally warm eyes darted about and he adjusted his robes more times than I could count. I was a little on edge now, it was not common for the unflappable Kingsley Shacklebolt to be nervous.

I fought to keep my voice steady. "Minister, is there something you wish to tell me?"

He finally looked at me. He wasn't happy. "Of course, but I am awaiting the arrival of Auror Potter before I begin. I only want to say this once." His voice was so deep it made me want to clear my throat.

I didn't respond, there was nothing to say really. While we waited for Harry, I watched the Minister grow increasingly more agitated and I grew more nervous, too. What was going on?

I was about ready go drag Harry up from the seventh floor myself, when finally he entered. We had parted ways less than a half hour ago, and he now looked just as upset as the Minister. This certainly wasn't good.

He patted me on the shoulder and greeted the Minister and Percy, then took a seat next to me.

Shacklebolt said, "A fourth woman was reported missing last night … and found less than an hour ago."

I knew from the tone of his voice that she was dead. I took a deep breath. Was she skinless like the other woman? If the Aurors had the suspects in custody, then who was responsible for the dead bodies?

At some cue from the Minister, Harry pulled a stack of photos from the folder he was carrying. I pulled the first one from the pile and recognized the face.

"Her name was Roberta Castlegory, as you know," said the Minister

I did know. Roberta had worked in my department. It had been my idea to station her in the Muggle Prime Minister's cabinet. We negotiated a wicked deal with the Muggles. She was my eyes and ears when I was unavailable and a way for the Prime Minister to have instant access to us if necessary. She was also Muggle-born and married to a very wealthy pureblood wizard – Cristos Casltegory.

Casltegory owned a leading brand of ink that only stained parchment. It's so popular because no one can figure out what enchantment he's using that makes the ink semi-invisible. I suddenly had a heavy feeling in my chest. I'd met Cristos and I don't think that I had ever met a man that loved his wife more. I pushed him from my mind. I didn't want to be the only person in the room weeping.

I had to focus on the case. "How did they get to someone so close to the Minister?" I asked.

Harry answered this time. "She was taken from her home when she was alone. Apparently someone activated her perfume bottle as a Portkey …"

"Wait a minute, if they used a Portkey, then we can just trace it."

Harry shook his head, but Kingsley but answered. "No, Hermione, it was an illegally made Portkey. Someone knows how to activate Portkeys without the Ministry approval. Could be any number of former employees." He seemed to think about what he'd said. "Or current ones for that matter. All the more reason to keep this investigation top secret."

We had all fallen silent, when Harry started shaking his head. "I don't get it though. The victims, besides being Muggle-born have nothing in common. I feel like there should be … something else. I'm just not seeing it."

Percy cleared his throat. I had nearly forgotten he was ever present. "Pardon me, Minister. Isn't it obvious, though?

"Isn't what obvious?" Kingsley asked.

Percy almost preened with self satisfaction.

"Out with it Percy," Harry said with just a hint of threat in his voice.

"Harry, please. Percy, if you know something that could help, please enlighten us. Women are dying."

Percy looked apologetic and stepped forward. "Well," he said slowly, thinking, "We've been certain for a while that a member of Rightblood is behind these attacks, but what if we've not been completely right? I agree that this person may have ties to the organization but the … nature of the crimes seems pretty personal. That is to say, why kill just women, why discriminate your victims?" He paused for effect. "I'm almost positive the perpetrator is a woman."

"You can't possibly know that," Kingsley said.

Percy shrugged. "I believe that if it were a man there would certainly be more of a …" He seemed to be searching for the right word. "A pattern."

Once again, Kingsley looked ready to argue, but Harry spoke first.

"Perc, you're bloody brilliant when you want to be."

"Someone explain what is happening," Kingsley demanded.

I explained. "Percy is right. The Muggles have studied this extensively. The profile of a serial killer is pretty much cut and dry. The killer is almost always male. He chooses his victims based on some common physical trait that is usually characteristic of some other female archetype of his psyche. His victims might have hair color or length, height, weight, physical endowment, or all of the above in common." I paused. "The crimes are also normally sexual in nature."

Harry beamed.

"That's interesting, but how does that prove that the person we're looking for is a witch?" Kingsley asked.

Harry pulled out eight photographs and spread them out on the desk. I knew what he meant to do. Four of the pictures were taken of the women before … in happier times. They were all beautiful, but beyond that nothing physical in common.

The other four were after the—well, just after.

"What do you see, Minister?" Harry asked.

Kingsley studied the photos for several moments, frowning at times.

"I don't know. They're all women? Nothing," he finally affirmed. "Except they were all killed the exact same way. So it's definitely one killer."

"Precisely," Harry said. "Nothing in common that you can see. They have different hair, different height, eyes, and so on. Their only commonalities are that they are all Muggle-born and all dead." He pointed to the after pictures.

Harry stood then and started to elaborate, pacing as he did.

"We were certain the killer was targeting Muggle-borns, but until now we couldn't be certain that the victims were deliberately women or if it was a coincidence. But that's what brick walled us, we couldn't find a connection. What kind of person were we looking for? Who could we rule out?" He stopped and sat back down and picked up the most recent victim's picture. "Why these women?"

Comprehension showed in the Minister's face. "How sure are we that it's a woman?"

Harry smiled. "Pretty damn sure, Minister. The women are all fully clothed below the waist, examiners confirm no sexual violation. These women are all Muggle-borns married to prominent pureblood wizards. So you see sir, we are looking for a woman."

"Not just any woman," Percy added, "a woman with a personal grudge or vendetta against Muggle-born women."

No one said anything for quite sometime, but I knew what they were thinking because I was thinking it too. We were looking for a woman scorned. Merlin, save us.

***

Harry had taken out a scrap of parchment and began scribbling, not even asking the Minister if he could use his quill and inkwell. Percy had gone back to looking pleased with himself.

It was me who broke the silence. "Minister, I'm terribly pleased that we've managed to make some progress, but has anyone contacted the Muggle Prime Minister, yet? I'm sure he's wondering why Roberta hasn't shown for work."

"No, and that's precisely why I've asked you to join this meeting. Mrs. Castlegory was part of your department, Hermione. Her position with the Muggles was extremely helpful, but ...." He paused and I waited for him to go on. He did. "I think you should decide if we will replace her immediately or not. I only ask that this be done in a timely manner. Once you have decided, I will contact the Muggles."

It was actually a difficult decision. Most everyone in my department was half-blood or Muggle-born. Of the people who I immediately knew were qualified for this position, none of them were pureblood.

I would certainly be frightened if I were moved into a new position because my predecessor had been murdered. Bother, I couldn't think about it now. I realized that the Minister was still waiting for my response. I nodded, decided to be a bit more professional and said, "Yes, thank you Minister. I'll think about it."

Harry stood again and announced that he needed to hold a meeting with the other Aurors about the break in the case. Assuming our meeting was over, I stood too.

"One more thing, Director," Kingsley said. When Kingsley used my title, I knew a direct order was coming. I prepared myself. "Auror Potter will have to release an official statement to the press soon and once the papers get a hold of it, well …. Frankly, I'm a little nervous about the fear it's going to cause among the people. I refuse to have everyone living in fear again of another evil wizard."

He sat down on the front edge of his desk and stared at something I couldn't see. Kingsley had been at this since the war, I wondered if he would give it up soon. But I didn't say anything out loud. I waited for him to get to the part I knew I wouldn't like.

"I want you to speak at the ball," he said finally.

The ball. A celebration the Minister himself had initiated. It started as something much smaller to commemorate the lives sacrificed for the rest of us to live in equality without fear. Now, in its fifth year, it was _the_ social event of the year and was really more of a place for rich sycophants and Ministry officials to gather and drink.

I quit speaking at those things in the second year, Ron the year after that. I stopped because I felt people were using the dead rather than honoring them. Harry only still gave a speech because he was the Hero. He'd actually tried to get the Ministry to quit throwing the things completely, but was out voted.

I said, "Of course Minister. I can understand why my word as a survivor and a Muggle-born could be uplifting. I'm honored that you even considered me." I didn't lie.

Kingsley almost smiled. The first hint of one I'd seen since I stepped into his office over an hour ago. "Hermione, I know how you feel about speaking and even more about the ball. Thank you for doing this." He touched my shoulder, his large hand nearly covering it completely.

"Minister, I was nearly killed during the last war for the very same reason that these women have died. If all I can do to really help this time is speak at the ball, then I can't think of any reason that would prevent me from attending."

When I finally got out of Kingsley's office, I was halfway down the corridor from the Minister's office before Percy caught up to me.

"Hermione, Hermione! A moment please," he called.

"What is it Percy? Did the Minister forget something?" I asked when I turned. I don't think I had ever seen Percy do anything other than strut briskly in all the years I'd known him. At almost a run, I was semi-alarmed.

"No, the Minister is busy making calls," he said once he caught up. I waited for him to continue but he didn't

"Ok, what's the matter then?"

He gave me a look that I'd seen Ron give Ginny loads of times, just before she did something to worry him. "Nothing is wrong. I merely had a suggestion."

"Out with it Percy."

"Perhaps you should wait a while before placing anyone with the Muggles," he said.

I raised an eyebrow. "Thank you Percy. I will take that into consideration when I make the decision."

"You didn't even hear my argument," he said.

"I'm not arguing."

"Hermione, I'm quite serious."

I felt bad. He was only concerned for me. "I'm sorry Percy." I leaned against the wall and felt everything that had happened since Saturday catching up with me. "I really do value your opinion, you're a smart man and you're a Weasley, so I doubly respect you."

I thought I saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

"But," I continued. "I haven't had time to think about anything. Right now, all I can do is promise to consider it."

"All right, very well then," said Percy. He suddenly looked worried again.

"Is there something else you wish to discuss?" I asked softly.

"Be careful," he finally said.

"Excuse me?" I said, blinking in surprise.

He looked me in the eyes, and though his face was an arrogant mask, I could clearly see the worry in his eyes.

"Look, I know I've been a git for half the time you've known me," he began. "But, I can't deny that my family loves you. Don't think for a moment that Ron and Harry haven't already discussed this …"

"Percy you're scaring me now."

He did smile then, Mr. Weasley's smile. "Obviously, you are Muggle-born and quite popular. You are unwed, for now, but I highly doubt that would stop this mad-woman from doing you harm. It would be prudent to remember that."

Percy and I had never been best mates, and since he'd gotten married I'd seen him even less. But, I did know that Percy didn't parade his feelings around for everyone to see. His concern for me now was certainly unexpected and I had a sudden urge to hug him. I didn't though, he wouldn't appreciate it and it'd just be silly.

But he was right. I hadn't wanted to think about it, like everything else I'd pushed out of my mind. However, I could no longer ignore it; after all I did fit a lot of the victim profile: Muggle-born, woman. Something, most likely fear, coiled in my gut.

I ignored it. Instead, saying, "Percy that is probably the nicest thing you've said to me. I appreciate your concern. I—I can't live in fear though. That's just inviting danger."

"I'm not telling you to be paranoid, only cautious. It wouldn't hurt to raise a few extra wards on your home or to always carry your wand for an easy draw. You're smart Hermione, remember that."

Before I could argue, he turned and strode down the corridor.

* * *

Notes: This chapter is shorter, so I expect to be making an update within a few days. Thanks to drcjsnider for her beta skills. Thanks to everyone for the wonderful reviews. I hope you enjoyed!

Expect much more Dramione interaction for the next few chapters! I've already written through chapter 12. This story should be around 15 chapters, just so you know.


	4. Bartholomew Basil's

Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters, concepts, plot lines, etc. belong to JKR. No money is being made. :-)

**Chapter 4: Bartholomew Basil's**

Two weeks later not much had changed. The Aurors still had not found the guilty one but, I suspected Percy had mentioned his concerns to Harry and Ron. The pair had taken to popping into my office or Flooing me at home more often than necessary.

I didn't venture down to the seventh level again. Good for me.

I told myself that it was out of sheer curiosity that I had begun to think about Malfoy so much. I felt I had no control over my own thoughts. At the most inopportune times, I'd catch myself replaying of our very brief conversation. He had been unlike any memory that I'd had of Malfoy from the past decade. I needed answers and to find them, I had taken to reading up on his social and business life in _Witch Weekly _and the _Goblin's Trade Exchange_.

I quickly flipped through this week's issue of _Witch Weekly_ to the indicated page, eagerly scanning the montage of photos like a teen fanatic. There were several pictures of Harry, Ginny, Ron and Charlotte. And at the top of the page in a very tiny circle there was a photo of Oliver and me at our private table in the corner that night at Magick Spot.

I was about to close the magazine and shove it in a drawer when I finally caught sight of a picture of Malfoy. He and Daphne Greengrass were posing for press outside of the restaurant. I noticed that Malfoy did not smile, but he kept a hand on the small of Daphne's back. Finally, he leaned over and whispered something in her ear.

The pang of jealously was so insignificant I had barely identified it, but the tiny sensation pricked my insides as I watched the scene play over again and again. What had he whispered into her ear? Were they together?

More curiosity.

By Friday, I had slipped into my routine of managing work, friends, and my ridiculous, secret Malfoy obsession with ease.

I was in my office trying, but failing, not to think about the object of my obsession. So, sighing in defeat, I pulled out the business magazine and turned to the fascinating article about how the Malfoys were the third wealthiest and fifth most philanthropic family in Wizarding England. On the page left of the article was a photograph of the whole Malfoy family. Right away, I decided that Draco only resembled his father in height, hair and eyes. I hated to admit it but, Lucius was incredibly handsome and a little edgier than Draco. Some stubble and a little wind in his hair and he could pose for the cover of a romance novel.

Draco's features were more refined, like Narcissa's. High cheekbones, straight, pointed nose and a set of lips that looked pliant and kissable — when they weren't set in a terrible sneer of course. The only thing that saved him from being completely androgynous was the strong, angled jaw and eyebrows straight and low over his eyes.

I quickly became engrossed in the article. I found it remarkable and suspicious that the Malfoys gave to charity. I was certain that rebuilding their name was a huge part of it, but I wondered how much, if any, was out of genuine kindness? What kind of charities did they give to?

I finally admitted to myself that part of my curiosity was to confirm that the core of him was good, or at least decent. I really needed him to prove my previous judgments wrong so that my attraction to him could be justified.

A sharp knock on my door startled me. As a rule of thumb, I never kept my office door closed, unless I was in an important meeting. I barely had time to hide the evidence before Harry was standing in front of me.

"Hey there, Hermione."

"Hi, Harry, what brings you up here?"

"Nothing really. I was on my way to get Percy to sign this warrant," he said. He held up a black folder. "What are you doing tonight, Hermione?" he asked, oblivious that he'd almost found me out.

"Um, nothing. Why?" I silently groaned and hoped this wasn't another attempt to set me up. I would refuse.

"Actually," he paused, adjusted his glasses and scratched his forehead where the once infamous lightning bolt shaped scar had been. Now, it could barely be made out, only slightly lighter than the rest of his skin.

He looked apologetically at me with his bright green eyes. "Well, I kind of want to take Ginny out tonight. Molly and Arthur have Bill and Fleur and their kids still visiting. Ron and Charlotte are going out and, well, I hoped that if you—"

Oh. Well, at least he wasn't trying to set me up with another doomed date. I figured I should stop him — put him out of his misery anyway. "Of course I will baby sit for Lily. Why are you so nervous to ask me?"

He shrugged and gave me a lop-sided grin. "I don't know. I didn't want you to think that I'd automatically assumed you would have nothing to do …."

"I don't, so it's okay Harry." I flashed him a smile, hoping to make him feel better. It wasn't his fault that I was alone. "What time should I come over?"

"Around six?"

"That's it then. Little Lily and I have a date at six," I said cheerfully.

"Okay then," he said. He didn't make a move to leave. His forehead creased and his brows raised a tiny fraction; he looked like he was trying to decide if he should ask me something else.

Suspicious, I raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" I asked slowly.

"Well, I was wondering…"

He was looking me squarely in the face now. I was immediately on guard and I said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"I was wondering if you had seen Malfoy anymore."

I think my heart skipped a beat. I wasn't expecting that. I blinked a few times, before gathering my words. "No, why on Earth would you ask me that?"

"Because you were reading up on him when I came in and I was just wondering if something was going between the two of you," he said bluntly.

Blast, how the hell had he seen that? I had always admired that Harry was so straight forward. Today, I cursed him for it.

So, he had seen me after all. Well, I would just stick to the facts — he didn't need to know the grisly details.

"So, I was reading a magazine, is that a crime?" I asked, defensively.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Don't be thick, Hermione. You were clearly reading about Malfoy. You didn't even hear me come in at first. Since when have you been interested in anything about Malfoy?"

"I'm not interested in Malfoy. I was reading this stupid magazine and I happened to stop on an article about the Malfoys. I don't see anything abnormal about that."

"When did _you_ start reading the _Goblin's Trade Exchange_?"

"I don't know … months ago."

He didn't miss a beat. "Who was on the cover last month?"

"_Ha_rry!" It came out like a cross between a plea and a scold. "If you have a point to make, please do it. Otherwise, you will _stop_ interrogating me like I am some sort of criminal. I've done absolutely nothing wrong and I am not interested in Malfoy."

My breathing was accelerated and I waited shamefully for Harry to respond. I vaguely recalled him telling me that in his line of work, it was always the guilty ones that went mad.

"Fine, sorry. I'm not saying you're doing anything wrong, just …"

"Just what?"

He stared at me for a moment. It felt like he sized me up in that time.

"Nothing. I'll see you at six then?"

"Yes," I answered exasperatedly.

"Fine."

"Fine."

And he was gone.

I felt a tiny bit guilty. He was partly right. There was nothing going on between Malfoy and me. There was just something going on with me. But, how could I tell him what it was when I didn't even know?

*******

I arrived at the Potters' at exactly five forty-five.

I was fifteen minutes early, but Harry had probably anticipated this. I was always early. I rang the door bell and waited a few seconds before Ginny, looking as beautiful as ever, answered the door.

She wore an emerald green halter-dress that set off her fair skin and ginger hair perfectly. Her hair was up only leaving her bangs to hang across her face.

"Oh, good, Hermione, tell me what you think?" She ran to the bedroom and came back in a different, dark purple dress. It was shorter and had a fitted bodice and a skirt that ballooned at the hips. It showcased her long legs. It was also very pretty. But the green dress on her was radiant.

I shook my head. "I like the green one better."

Satisfied, Ginny ran back into the bedroom to change again. For the first time, I noticed Lily playing quietly on a pile of blankets on the floor.

"Hello, Lily," I cooed at her. She was easily the most adorable child I had ever seen. She had big emerald green eyes, sweet cherub cheeks, and wavy auburn hair with an impossible cowlick at the crown of her head. She squealed and grinned at me, revealing two tiny teeth and a deep dimple in her left cheek.

I moved to sit with her on the floor and she held up a slimy licorice wand that she had been nibbling on, offering it to me in indiscernible baby-babble.

"Thank you," I said, taking it from her and cleaning her chubby little hand with a small cloth with broomsticks printed on it.

Lily and I played together for a few more minutes before Ginny and Harry finally came out, fully dressed. It didn't escape my notice that Harry deliberately didn't look my way. I supposed he was still a bit annoyed with me. I'd decided that I would act like it never happened.

With that in mind, I smiled and used the most cheerful voice I could muster.

"You two look wonderful. Very handsome, Harry," I said truthfully. Harry wore black dress-pants, a white dress shirt, and a black tie. The matching black jacket was slung over his arm.

He blushed and pushed his glasses up. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Dinner and the theater," Ginny said happily.

"Yeah, the Jesters are playing this weekend," Harry added. The Jesters were a popular comedy group.

I watched wistfully as Ginny picked Lily up and kissed each of her plump, rosy cheeks and then passed her to Harry. The three of them were a beautiful, perfect little family.

I was happy that my best friend, who had experienced so much inconceivable sadness in his very short life, had finally gotten the family he wanted. The only thing he'd ever wanted. And yet, I felt wretched for being jealous of their happiness.

Harry handed Lily back to me. She fussed for just a moment before Ginny squatted and kissed her again. "Mummy will be gone for just a little while, love. Be good for Hermione."

As if she understood, Lily stopped and cooed.

Ginny stood, smoothing her dress. "Thank you so much for this, Hermione."

I waved it off. "Don't think of it. You two should take off; you don't want to be late."

Ten minutes later, Harry had managed to get Ginny out the door after finally getting Lily contented with a toy.

I watched the two of them through the front window until they reached a tree in the front of the house and Disapparated before turning my attention to the baby.

"Well, what would you like to do little one?" To answer for her, my stomach growled. I had not eaten all day. I even stayed late at the office to finish some paper work and then came straight here. I was still in my Ministry robes.

I decided since the night was warm, and it _was_ a Friday night, that Lily and I would venture to Diagon Alley. Harry and Ginny didn't live too far to walk since I was certain Side-Along Apparition or Floo travel would not be pleasant for Lily.

So, I gathered everything I would possibly need and we left. The sun had almost finished setting and the air was warm and breezy. I pushed the baby carriage and watched as Lily's little auburn curls bounced every which way as she watched, wide eyed, the older children playing in the street.

It took less than ten minutes to reach Diagon Alley. As I suspected, it was busy. A few times I caught a photographer snapping pictures of me. I cringed; I would probably make it into some gossip magazine. I wonder what they would say about me with Harry Potter's daughter? That I was secretly poor and he had taken pity on me, hired me as their nanny? Or better, that I'd had an affair with Harry and Lily was secretly mine. I scowled at the idea of innocent Lily being brought into the middle of scandal.

I decided to go to Bartholomew Basil's, a small deli-style restaurant. It was a good choice. It was not crowded and I immediately eyed a place near the window and seated myself without waiting for the hostess. There were enough open tables that she wouldn't mind.

The moment I was seated and Lily's carriage was pulled right alongside me, the waitress approached the table. She set a basket of crisps on the table and took my order. I already knew what I wanted. They were famous for their signature roast beef sandwich and honey-butterbeer combination.

I watched out of the window, balancing my attention between the people outside and Lily. Outside, there was the rare single person walking quickly, probably on their way to meet someone. There were a few larger groups of teenagers, but the majority of the population was made up of couples. I watched them walk together, their strides in sync, holding hands, and stealing the occasional kiss. I simultaneously longed for and felt sickened by it.

Fortunately, my food arrived and I was grateful to turn my back on the scene outside.

Lily was truly entertaining, making faces when she nibbled the crisps. She fussed to have some honey-butterbeer but I was sure it was much too strong for her delicate stomach. In preparation, I'd brought some of her baby formula. She dropped the half eaten chip, her dimpled hands grasping at the bottle.

I had nearly finished my own meal, when I glanced up toward the door and froze mid bite. Draco Malfoy had just come in and was looking right at me. Once again, his expression was amusement, mixed with something else that seemed misplaced in his haughty features. Several thoughts ran through my mind at once. I looked around, trying to find someone else that could possibly be waiting for Malfoy. Besides a giggling group of teenaged girls, no one spared him a significant look.

It would be ridiculous to think he was here to see me. After all, no one knew that I had even come.

He was casually dressed again in denims and a black collared shirt. I wondered if this was his usual style. I had always imagined that Malfoy stayed impeccably dressed in nothing but the finest dress robes, like his father had each time I'd seen them together when we were children.

Just then, the blonde hostess came up and got his attention. I used this stolen moment to hastily chew my food and dab at my mouth. If he was coming over here, it wouldn't do to look uncivilized.

And he _was_ coming. He held up a hand, stopped her from seating him and gestured in my direction. My heart was now thunderous in my chest. What did _he _wantwith me?

I tried to look as unwelcoming as possible when he leisurely strode in my direction. The distance from the entrance to my table was very short but it seemed like eons before he finally reached me. He had not once taken his eyes off me and I felt my face warm beneath his stare.

I admit that I found him to be more than a little attractive. He was even better looking than his picture with smooth pale skin and aesthetic, symmetrical features. His pale gray eyes were shining playfully; the amusement had grown into a lazy smile by the time he reached my table. I felt my eyebrows to pull together in confusion.

"Are you following me, Malfoy?" I asked, only half joking.

He ignored the question and pointed to the empty seat opposite me. "May I?"

Warily, I mirrored his movement, pointing to the seat. "If you must."

I still didn't know what was happening. This was Draco Malfoy: Hater of all Things Muggle, dining with me, Hermione Granger: Muggle-born.

I nervously licked my lips and struggled to keep my voice from portraying any of the uneasiness that prickled along my spine. "Forgive me, but this is extremely unorthodox for us, Malfoy. If you're here to start trouble, I should warn you that I'm not above causing you severe bodily harm," I said.

His eyes widened. "Easy, Granger," he said. He started to say more, but at the same moment, Lily squealed. I glanced over and she was giggling, reaching for Malfoy.

Apparently noticing her for the first time, he recoiled and looked at me, bewildered.

I rolled my eyes. "This is Harry's daughter. I'm babysitting for him tonight."

Malfoy smirked. "Well, I'm sure Potter will be delighted to know his daughter had the pleasure of dining with me," he said. He had relaxed but still leaned slightly away from Lily.

My server came back, bringing me another beverage and asking for Malfoy's order. He declined and turned back to me before she had even gone.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" I asked again.

He exaggerated a thoughtful expression then dropped it when he saw my face. "You can relax, Granger. I'm not here to start trouble."

"Then what are you doing?" I couldn't see any reason to be relaxed about this situation and I was growing impatient.

"I saw you through the window and I couldn't stop myself from wondering what you were doing dining alone on a Friday night. So, to satiate my curiosity, I came in to ask."

"How did you know I was alone, my company could have been … late."

He looked pointedly at my finished meal, drawing his lips up in a smirk. "Then that bloke's really late."

I felt my face heat up with embarrassment. "Well, I'm not actually alone."

He chuckled and glanced at Lily, who was now offering him her half eaten chip.

"Is that what you came to do, mock me for eating by myself?" I asked, annoyed. I should have known; it was Malfoy for Merlin's sake. I should not have expected more.

"Well," he started slowly, "I am also out on a Friday night, alone."

I skeptically studied his face for a long moment for anything that might belie his words. The right corner of his mouth twitched and I rolled my eyes.

"All right," he said. "I was out with some friends, but the rest is the truth."

"What reason do I have to believe you, Malfoy? What are you doing here, really?"

"Do you have to know the reason behind everything? Some things should remain a mystery," he said.

Did I mention that he was annoying?

"I don't like mysteries and let's just state facts. You _hate _me, Malfoy. Forgive me if I have a hard time trusting this — new you."

He laughed humorlessly, and then his forehead creased only slightly marring his handsome face.

"I don't think I've ever _hated_ you," he began but I cut him off with a rude snort.

He must think of me as a fool!

"Please, Malfoy, you expect me to believe that? Would you like me to run down the list of all the _hateful_ things you said and did to me?"

"Do you hold grudges for things I said as a child?"

"Some child!"

His eyes flashed. "You weren't exactly a kitten either, Granger."

"Anything I did to you was in self-defense!" My voice was slightly louder than I'd meant, and it scared Lily. She shrieked and began to cry. I was completely embarrassed by this point and I could feel my face flaming. Several pairs of eyes were on us and out of the corner of my eye, I could see Malfoy glaring back at the spectators.

To avoid their curious stares, I busied myself by tending to Lily. I sat her in my lap, and she stopped crying almost immediately.

"It's true," he continued. "I was a child, what did I know of true hate? In reality, you were just another girl. All girls were hated at that age," he joked and even tried to grin.

I didn't see anything funny. "Malfoy, some of the more terrible things you did came after you were no longer considered a child."

All the laughter fell away from his face leaving a startlingly empty expression. "You're right. But I still didn't hate you."

I just stared.

"I knew that you were supposed to be different though — but, I couldn't hate you. I didn't know you," he went on. I rolled my eyes again. "Although, after I _did_ get to know what I did of you of as person, I didn't like you at all. You were condescending and snobby."

"Ha! This from someone who once told me I wasn't fit to kiss his boots!"

"You were a cheeky little know-it-all too. Still are, as a matter of fact."

"Malfoy, if you came here to trade insults, you might as well leave."

He sighed. "I actually didn't come here for that — it doesn't matter now though. I've gone and pissed you off."

His voice was low so that only I could hear and just barely. I licked my lips again. They felt like cotton.

"No. I want to know why you followed me here."

"I don't know."

This was turning out to be a bit redundant. I motioned to the waitress to bring the check. "Look, Malfoy, whatever you have planned, I won't stick around to be a part of it. You can just —"

"Have dinner with me."

I stopped breathing. "Excuse me?"

He didn't flinch. "Have dinner with me tomorrow night."

Again, I searched his face, his eyes, for anything to reveal the true nature of his request. But, this time, I found nothing that suggested anything other than the words he spoke.

I exhaled silently and my gut erupted in a flurry of butterflies. I now knew what it was that had me so curious about Malfoy. I liked him genuinely and truly. My reaction to his invitation proved as much.

But I was still guarded. Why should I believe him? What if this was some kind of set up?

"I would understand completely if you won't," he offered, breaking into my silent panic.

I stared into his silvery eyes for a moment longer, hoping I wouldn't regret what I was about to say.

"Yes," I said simply.

A tiny smirk crossed his features, then, a full smile, triggering a fresh eruption of butterflies in me.

Lily laughed, a tinkling giggle and reached for him again.

That seemed to clear the air between us. I finally let go of the breath I had been holding.

I smiled at Lily. "I think she likes you. She wants you to hold her."

He laughed nervously. "I don't think that's such a good idea." He pointed to the window, now much darker than before. "I thought I saw some photographers earlier. It wouldn't do for me to be seen holding Potter's kid."

I put Lily back into her carriage. "You're right. It's getting late anyway. I must be going."

He stood with me and pulled out some coins, placing them on the table.

I realized immediately what he was doing. "That really isn't necessary, Malfoy. I can pay … "

He shook his head, already walking to the door. "I insist. Just meet me tomorrow night at seven o'clock at Magick Spot."

*******

Lily was asleep long before Harry and Ginny returned from the theater.

I only half listened to Ginny recount every detail of their evening. I was anxious to leave. I needed to be alone so that I could replay tonight's conversation over and over. I knew I would analyze every word, every smile, and every intake of breath.

I still couldn't believe it. He was charming, handsome, and smart. It would have been perfect if it were anyone but Malfoy.

But wasn't it exactly what I had been unwittingly seeking for weeks? If nothing else, I will get my curiosity out of the way.

I said goodnight to Ginny and Harry without making mention of Malfoy. There was no need for Harry to be completely right after I had behaved so badly just a few short hours earlier.

I went to bed that night with my thoughts still in turmoil. Only one thing was undeniably certain: If Malfoy was the same person he was just five years ago, then I had just agreed to spend an evening with the devil ....

* * *

Notes: :-) So...thanks to my shiny new beta-reader, BookofSecrets. Thanks for reading.


	5. Draco's Story

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, magic, etc. belong to JK Rowling. No money being made, I write to learn.

**Chapter 5: Draco's Story**

Early morning found me in my bed, staring at the flecks in the ceiling, thinking.

I was nervous, flattered, excited and suspicious all at once. I could accept that there was some inexplicable attraction between us, at least on my end. Yet, I still couldn't completely wrap my brain around the concept of Malfoy having genuine interest in me.

It was so hard to let go of all the things Malfoy had put me through — so hard that I had almost sent him a cancellation letter more than once during the night. In the end, my curiosity won. I was somehow confident that Malfoy didn't have it in him to cause me fatal harm, not after all his family had gone through to re-establish their place in society. I didn't think he was above much else though.

I'd have to be on my guard, just in case.

I got out of bed and went straight to my window to draw the shades. As _my_ luck would have it, the sky was gray and a few droplets of rain had already begun to dot the windowpane. The sky rumbled. In the distance, I could see trees bowing to the heavy wind and black storm clouds drifting closer.

Luckily, I didn't believe in Omens.

I continued to stare, unseeing, out the window. It wouldn't do any good to fret all day. I'd already decided I was much too curious to cancel. I exhaled sharply. At the very least, this should be interesting.

The rain picked up and the droplets turned into rivulets that obscured my view of the sky. I hurried into the kitchen and grabbed my Owl post from the tray outside of the window over the sink before they got soaking wet. Ink was impossible to read on wet parchment.

I put on a pot of Earl Grey and began going through the stack of post.

Most of the letters were nothing of importance, advertisements of some sort and the Daily Prophet. I suppose I had been lucky, Malfoy and I had managed not to make the front page, the missing women were still more important. With permission of the family, the Aurors were keeping their murders quiet, only reporting to the papers that they were missing.

My invitation to the Ministry-sponsored Ball had come … I quickly shoved it to the back of the pile. I didn't want to think about that one unless it was absolutely critical.

There was one last plain envelope with only my name on it. I turned it over; the crest in the wax seal wasn't familiar, but I had an idea who it was from. However, I didn't know why _he_ would be writing to me. Maybe he was canceling? Perhaps he'd come to his senses, or perhaps he and his little posse were having a nice laugh.

With my tea, post, and curiousity in hand, I hurried over to the table to read my unfamiliar post. I quickly opened it and although I had never seen the small, even print, the first two words on the expensive parchment left no doubt as to whom it was from.

_Dearest Granger,_

_My apologies for the last minute change, but I would like to move things to a more private venue. Again, I understand if you can't. I will leave the Floo connection open for you. I've also enclosed my address for your Floo destination. I hope to see you tonight at seven._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

His house?

Very lucky I didn't believe in Omens, because they were beginning to pile up..

Why in the world? Was he ashamed to be seen in public with me because I was Muggle-born? No, that would be ridiculous; if that were the case, he wouldn't even bother with me in the first place. If he wished to harm me, taking me to a secluded, unknown spot would be more ideal. While I was glad to be out of the public eye, there was something about being alone with Malfoy on his private property that made the back of my neck itch.

I read the note through once more and realized he hadn't given me his address. I turned the parchment over. Nothing. I checked inside the envelope, and there was a small square piece of parchment with his address written in the same even print.

Number 1

Private Road 6

South Chippenhamshire, Wiltshire

So, this was Malfoy's private residence. If he meant me harm, he certainly wouldn't provide written evidence would he? I dearly hoped so.

***

A delicately cut, violet-colored dress was what I had decided to wear. I only needed my pair of pearl earrings that I'd let Ginny borrow months before.

I'd rehearsed my story in the mirror three times. It didn't matter because Ginny could smell a lie a mile away and once she caught the scent, she was relentless.

On my knees in front of the fireplace, I tossed half a handful of Floo powder into the flames and stuck my head through. I was immediately relieved to see Ginny no where in sight, but Harry on the sofa, poring over a stack of parchment.

He jumped when I spoke because he hadn't noticed me come through. "All right, Harry? Ginny here?"

"Hermione … I'm glad you stopped by. No, she's out with Molly, but I need you to come over ... have a look at this, tell me what you think. Based on what we were able to come up with in the Minister's office, I've compiled a list of suspects that …."

"Hang on, I'm coming through."

I came through and Harry handed me the list. He ignored that I was barefoot and in pyjama bottoms at three in the afternoon.

He'd made a list of about seven names. Most of the names I recognized, one of them stood out.

"I understand the majority of these," I said, "I might even understand Millicent Bulstrode, if you explained it to me. But Lavender?"

"It started out as list of all pureblood witches in the age bracket and then just sort of morphed into a suspect list. Lavender was originally on here because of the age, but I saw her in Diagon Alley the other day and she was really acting strange. She kept asking me about the missing women." He shook his head. "I can't rule her out yet because she _is_ pureblood and unmarried."

Yes, it was odd, but I didn't think enough to make a suspect list, but then again, I wasn't the Auror. I read through it again. "So, you think it's a pureblood?"

"That's what makes the most sense. Who else would want to murder Muggle-borns? That's what it's always been about, yeah? Pure-blood versus everyone else."

I glanced at Harry. "That a pretty extreme take on it."

"It's the truth."

We were quiet for a few moments staring at the parchment on the table between us, but not really seeing it. At least, I wasn't. What Harry had said was sad but true. For all the progress the magical community had made towards equality, the root of the hate was still buried deep into the fiber of our being.

Harry pushed his glasses up and turned to me. "So, what do you think?"

***

I'd managed to leave Harry's house with my earrings and without interrogation. Good for me.

By six thirty, I was dressed with time to spare. The soft violet dress I wore had very short, capped sleeves. The neckline dipped just enough to make me nervous. The dress had a cinched waist, a slightly fitted skirt and fell down to just past my knees. I wore comfortable peep-toe pumps and brought a white cardigan, just in case.

Thanks to Sleakeazy, my normally unruly hair was more tame than usual and fell in manageable waves down my back. It still couldn't stop the occasional renegade curl from escaping every now and then, though.

I'd felt the frenzied fluttering in my belly crescendo the closer seven o'clock came. I was anxious because I had no idea how this evening would go. Usually, I could predict the flow of my dates with ease. With Malfoy, I had no idea what to expect. It made me feel completely out of sorts in exciting ways.

I'd memorized Malfoy's address on the off chance that something did happen and someone needed to find me. I'd left it on the kitchen table in plain sight. So, with one last shaky breath, I stepped into the fireplace.

I emerged cautiously from a blast of green flames. It felt disrespectful and odd to Floo directly into such an unfamiliar home. Behind me the fire hissed one final time and extinguished itself. I jumped and glanced behind me. Malfoy must have set it to close automatically after my arrival.

I do not believe in Omens.

The room I had Flooed into was spotless, but I somehow had the feeling it was one of the most occupied rooms of the home. Except for the area in front of the fireplace, the entire room was laid with thick, Slytherin-green carpeting that begged me to take off my shoes and sink my toes in deep. On the wall to my right, there were two paintings I recognized from a very famous wizard artist, Jacques St. Laurent. The open door on the same wall faced a dark hallway that I didn't care to venture into. The room looked to be a personal study or library.

Opposite me, the wall was angled like a trapezoid and covered, nearly from ceiling to floor, with shelves of books. Some were fat, old tomes, and others were as thin as pamphlets. My fingertips itched to run along their spines. I wanted to know just what kinds of books Malfoy kept in his personal collection.

In front of the book shelves, on a raised platform, was a large, wooden desk that, despite the shine, looked to be centuries old. The legs of it were short and stout and carved into intricate swirls. From where I stood, the only things that I could see on the desk were an uncapped jar of ink and a quill feather.

Below the platform, in front of me, was a brown leather sofa, a wooden coffee table that had the same antique carving as the desk, and two single Queen Anne chairs. On the table, I noticed a silver serving tray holding two flutes of white wine and a white folded card.

Curiously, I picked up the card. _"I'll be here shortly,"_ it said._ "Have some wine while you wait. Draco."_

Hesitantly, I picked up a wineglass. The note, the glass, the strange room; it felt like something out of Alice in Wonderland.

I briefly, but seriously, considered Disapparating on the spot and sending him a letter of apology. The only reason I stayed was because to my left, two French doors were open, leading out to a cobblestone veranda. The veranda was lit with soft white light. Out further, the only thing I could see was the expanse of Malfoy's property and a small forest of trees whose damp leaves glistened under the pinkish glow of the setting sun. The table was set with two covered dishes, a flickering candle, and a bucket of wine. It was an incredibly romantic setting for Malfoy and me.

"I was hoping you would show up." I jumped because his voice was close — so close that I could smell the light, fruitiness of wine on his breath and the mild smell of his cologne.

I turned and was nearly face to face with Malfoy. He took a step back and smiled lazily. He was dressed simply in a white button-down shirt and gray dress-pants. His short hair looked softer and straighter than corn silk.

I ignored my thundering heart. "Malfoy," I said casually, "I didn't hear you come in."

He shrugged. "It's the carpet. I didn't mean to scare you."

I shook my head. "Oh, no, you didn't."

He set his glass down and did a sort of sweeping motion with his hand. I set my glass down, too.

"This is my office. Of course, you already know I work as a dark artifacts Investigator," he said, shooting me a meaningful glance, "but I also help my father run his investment firm. Normally, this room would be wall-to-wall office work, but my parents are on holiday, so that means I am, too."

"Well, you seem to be a very busy man." It was true. I had no idea that Malfoy worked that hard. It would explain why I hardly ever saw him out.

He nodded, and his eyes glazed over a bit before he blinked. "Yes, a very busy man … hard to have time for anything else, really."

I felt my eye brows pull together in confusion, but he spoke before I could ask him what he meant. I didn't dwell. I had plenty of time for questions.

"Would you like to have a tour?" he asked, changing the subject.

This time, I smiled at him. "Yes, that would be nice."

***

Although Malfoy's home was no where near the massive, looming mansion that Malfoy Manor was, it was still quite large. I'd counted five bedrooms, four baths, and two drawing rooms aside from his office and the main sitting room.

Once the tour was finished, he led me back into the office. The air between us had warmed, and he seemed more relaxed, which helped to calm my nerves. He picked up his glass and drank half the contents in one draught.

"Well, Granger, I hope you're hungry, and if you're not, be polite and eat it anyway. I slaved all day over this meal," he said as he led me outside onto the patio.

"_You _slaved? More like some poor house-elf, I'm sure."

He smirked as he pulled a chair out that I assumed was for me and moved to pour two new flutes of white wine.

"You shouldn't be so sure of yourself, then. I don't have any elves," he said. He glanced at me, the smirk still on his lips.

He uncovered the dishes. It was beautifully arranged and salmon was the main entrée. I lifted one eyebrow.

"Are you saying that _you_ prepared and cooked this meal?"

"I am insulted," he said. "I really am. Of course I cooked it. After Potter freed our elf, it was a few years before we got another. My family had to eat somehow; I guess I learned a thing or two from my mother. Also, I don't get the family elf until I have a family of my own."

By this time, he was seated in front of me, and I stared at him, surprised. I felt quite sheepish.

"Please forgive me for being so presumptuous, then. I—I apologize."

Malfoy chuckled and shook his head. "Think nothing of it. If I were you, I wouldn't believe it either."

He watched as I cut a small piece of salmon. I hadn't eaten much all day, and my mouth watered from the smell alone. That was a good sign.

I looked up at him when I bravely stuck the fork into my mouth. He looked as if he weren't breathing. I slowly chewed, really tasting it. Surprisingly, it was very good. Malfoy was a good cook.

I smiled at him, "Delicious."

"Of course," he said.

We ate for a few moments in silence, but it wasn't awkward or dreadful. It was very easy and almost … flirtatious. Every so often he would glance up at me and smile, his eyes dancing between my mouth and eyes.

His own pale gray eyes were still mesmerizing and many times threatened to pull me into a trance. I needed to get a grip on my self. No one should be so drawn in on a first date.

In an attempt to diffuse my attention, I asked him the first tentative question. "Malfoy, I was curious …"

"Naturally," he said.

"Lavender Brown. Are she and Blaise Zabini … dating?"

He smiled and waited until he had sipped from his glass before answering. "Blaise and Lavender have been dating for quite a while. They're actually engaged to be married this fall."

I blinked in surprise. "Really? Blaise and Lavender? I didn't even … I suppose I have been a little out of touch with my classmates, but…engaged? I hadn't heard."

"Yeah, don't feel bad. We were nearly as shocked as you are. They actually want to keep it as private as possible. Once the media gets wind of it, they're afraid there'll be nothing romantic about their wedding."

I stared into my plate, suddenly very shy about the next question, but I had to ask it.

"You and Daphne Greengrass — are you … together?"

The answer seemed obvious, considering that I was having dinner with him, but several seconds passed before he answered me. Fearing the worst, I looked up at him. His eyes were trained intently on me.

"No, Daphne and I are not together."

I nodded casually. "Oh, I was only asking because I saw you two together at — at the restaurant that weekend of the Quidditch games …."

"Daphne and I are just friends. Maybe even less than that. She's Pansy's best mate, and Pansy's with Greg, so when the six of us go out, I'm usually stuck with Daphne."

I, of all people, should understand the dynamic between male and female friendships. People had often tried to say that Harry and I had more than friendship between us for years.

I felt childish for having made Malfoy justify his own. I pictured him in that photograph from the magazine. The way he touched her could easily be taken two ways. Still, it gave me peace of mind to know for sure.

I took a deep breath, savoring the unique scent of freshly fallen rain.

We sat silently for a few more minutes. It was the middle of Spring, and even though I had on the cardigan I'd brought, I shivered. The night that was already cool from the earlier storm was beginning to cool even more.

I gazed out over the wide open quad again. I could see the shimmering tree-tops swaying with the light breeze.

"You have a very lovely home," I said.

"Thank you."

Malfoy noticed me shiver again and suggested we move inside. He grabbed the wine bottle and our two glasses and we went. He started a fire and sat down on the leather couch.

His look was inviting, but I felt too nervous to join him.

Inside was much warmer, and I removed my cardigan, laying it on the back of the sofa. I looked around the room and eyed the books again and the initial spark of interest reignited.

I drifted toward them. I was entirely aware of a set of gray eyes following my every step, and my skin tingled under his scrutiny. I moved cautiously, in case he objected to my curiosity.

I passed the desk, and my hand trailed along one smooth, polished edge. The first book I saw, at eye level was _Wise Blood_ by William Faulkner. My head reflexively drew back on my neck; I was a little surprised that it was a Muggle novel but not completely. Not by this — other realm, Malfoy. I let my hand come up and float along the books. As I expected, a great portionof the books were by Muggle authors.

I suddenly felt him behind me, again very close. A pale hand reached around me, his sleeve brushed my shoulder, and I could smell his heady scent: very clean, mixed with the wine. He reached up and pulled out a dark, leather-bound book.

I turned to face him. I was sandwiched between him and the books. He didn't step back to offer space; he only handed me the book. It was Nietzsche.

"It's my favorite, right now," he said in a slow drawl.

I looked up at him, his cheeks were slightly flushed—I suspected from the wine—and his eyes were half lidded. He licked his lips, and I felt my insides heat up. I suddenly couldn't breathe.

I side-stepped him and placed the book on the desk as I passed. I filled my lungs with the fresh air of the open room.

"Granger, if you don't mind, I think you look very beautiful this evening," he said.

"Thank you," I said. I sat down on the sofa and tried not to fidget as he sat on the opposite end, his body turned to me. "And if you don't mind, I'd prefer if you called me Hermione."

He smirked. "I'll try, but I can't really make any promises," he replied with his head tilted in my direction.

I hated awkward silences. More than that, I hated when I didn't know what to say.

"Say, this may be a little late in the asking, but are you seeing anyone?" he asked suddenly.

Not likely, I wanted to say. "No," I said instead.

"I can't imagine why."

I said nothing. He licked his lips again, and my eyes were glued to the action. I had never wanted to kiss a man more in my life. It must be the wine and the warmth of the fire doing strange things to my mind. Before I lost all self control, I decided to get him talking.

"Mal—Draco, I was reading in, in a magazine that you give to charity. I was just wondering which one it was?"

He looked contemplative for a moment, and his eyes tightened in the corners. His expression was unexpected, but I waited silently for him to answer.

"Why?" he said finally. His voice was tight and defensive.

"I—I was only curious. I'm sorry. If you don't want to answer, you don't have to."

"No, it's fine." He relaxed a bit. "We mainly donate to two of them and a few others. My parents chose to donate money to Hogwarts and I chose the children's ward at St. Mungo's."

Interesting.

"Why did you choose them?" I asked.

He paused, and I could see his jaw clench. He got up and walked to stand in front of the fireplace. Slowly, without looking at me, he spoke.

"After the — the battle at Hogwarts, I was admitted to St. Mungo's burn unit. I got some — got burned from the fire in the Room of Requirement. Nothing too serious." He swallowed and spared me a brief glance.

I vividly remembered that night. Vincent Crabbe had used Fiendfyre and died by his own curse because he hadn't known the incantation to stop it. I remembered Harry saving Malfoy, but I didn't know he had been injured, too.

This story was apparently one that was troubling for him but, there was no way I could ask him to stop. I had to hear it.

"I was only in there for a couple of weeks," he said. "When I first woke up, I realized that I wasn't in there alone. There was one other girl. At first, I was upset. I wanted my own room. Better yet, I wanted to go home. But, then I saw her face, she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. She had these deep brown eyes …. She was still unconscious, but I waited for her for nearly a week to wake up. When she finally did, I guess she was really disoriented because she looked at me and said, 'Are you my Angel?' "

He scoffed, now looking into the fire. He still had not looked at me.

"She thought I was an Angel. We talked a lot over the next few days. She told me her sister had been killed. Someone sent a package to them claiming it was from an Aunt or something. The toy was cursed. It had burned her sister to ashes on the spot, and she had lost her left arm. Most of her left side was severely burned, skin gone, everything."

That last bit sounded incredibly familiar. I didn't know what it meant, but I tucked it away for later. I turned my attention back to him.

"At first," he was saying, "I couldn't figure out why someone would send them a cursed package. I'd automatically assumed she was pure-blooded simply because we shared a room. I'd thought maybe there was a wing secured for pure-bloods or something."

I sucked air in between my teeth, and he heard. He finally looked at me, and I could see sorrow in his eyes.

"It's stupid, I know," he said. "It's no excuse, but I really had a sheltered and naïve up-bringing, believe it or not. Anyway, the girl was Muggle-born. For the first time ever, I had been able to get to know someone for who they were rather than by any reputation or knowledge of their bloodline that preceded them. The anger I felt that anyone would harm such a beautiful, smart, nice girl before I knew she was Muggle-born was still there afterward. I realized what _I_ truly felt. It wasn't diluted or persuaded, it was pure and crystal clear.

"When I woke up one morning, she was gone. The curse had finished her in her sleep. Cynthia was her name. I never knew her last name." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper on the last sentence.

"Draco, I am so sorry."

He looked at me again and smiled sadly. "It wasn't your fault. But, after that, I wanted to help more people like her, and well, St. Mungo's happened to be full of innocent children just like her. It's also why I decided to become an Investigator … no one could ever figure out who had sent it, only that it was some type of potion or something."

I was stunned. Could people really change this much? This man in front of me was nothing like I'd judged him to be. I felt shame for all the negative things I'd thought about him in the last twenty-four hours.

We remained quiet for several more minutes, each of us lost in thought. I suddenly realized I didn't know him at all, and more than ever, I wanted to know everything, every detail, about him.

"Have you ever — ever dated someone who wasn't pure-blood?" I asked.

He shook his head a half second before he answered. "No."

"Do you think you could? Seriously, I mean."

He came back to sit with me on the sofa, closer this time.

"Hermione, I didn't bring you here for some mission to redeem myself if that's what you're getting at. I was — _am _interested in you …"

"That isn't what I mean. It's just, your family, your friends. They can't all have had the same change of heart."

He considered this for a moment. I figured I knew what he was thinking. Blaise dating a former Gryffindor was one thing, but Lavender was still had pure-blood. Pansy's reaction to me was now clear. I knew that regardless of what outer images they projected, their beliefs were mostly ingrained.

And his parents. They would most certainly disinherit him at once.

"I am an adult wizard, Hermione. I make my own money, have my own home, and most importantly, I make my own decisions. I have for a long time."

I could hear the stress in his voice, so I didn't press it further. There was no point in ruining a perfect night with my pessimism or sense of reality, depending on how you viewed it.

I tried to think of something to say to lighten the mood, but all that I could think of was how much I _liked_ Malfoy. And it was justified. His heart, his core, was better than I could have hoped, and still there was so much to know.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

I could feel his warm breath on my face. He was so close. I couldn't look at him. I feared that if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from boldly doing something I'd regret later.

Instead I looked down into my lap.

"Hermione?" He hooked one finger beneath my chin and raised my face to his. His face was unreadable as he let his hand drop.

"Did I offend you?" he asked.

His face was now creased with genuine concern that I would have never thought Malfoy was capable of feeling for _me_. It seemed the effects of the fire and wine were manifesting in both of us.

"I apologize," he said. He was so close to me now, I could feel the space between us grow warmer by the second. He moved away and my breathing quickened as reflexively, uncontrollably I watched my hand lift and grab the collar of his expensive shirt.

I was pulling him back to me. Surprise flashed in his pale, silvery eyes for a split second before he realized what was happening.

My eyes fluttered closed the moment I experienced the exquisite feeling of his lips brushing mine. His scent filled my head, and I couldn't think. I could only taste the tangy-sweetness of his mouth, feel the velvety feel of his tongue. I felt my hand move from his collar to twine into his silky-smooth hair. I couldn't breathe, but I didn't want to stop.

With Herculean effort, I pulled my lips from his. We were both panting; my skin was on fire. His perfectly coifed hair was sticking out at odd angles, his pale skin and mouth flushed red. Slowly, a mischievous, lazy smile tugged at his mouth.

"Hermione," he breathed.

He kissed me, and I melted all over again.

* * *

Notes: Thanks to my beta, BookofSecrets. I made up the town Draco lives in. I spent about a week searching for a real, affluent place in Wiltshire I thought he could live but the town/village/city dynamic was confusing to me. Thanks for reading, your comments STILL encourage and help me!!


	6. First Date

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, magic, settings, etc...belong to JKR. Only the plot and OC are mine. No money is being made. I write to learn.

**Chapter 6: First Date**

**~***~**

It had been nearly three weeks since that night.

Three weeks, and I had seen him almost every evening since.

In fact, I had gotten a letter via Owl post from him that same night asking to see me the very next day.

It had not taken me long after that first kiss to realize we were moving much too quickly. Before I had come to my senses, Draco's shirt was half off, and my dress was hiked indecently up my thighs. I had not been with a man in a very long time, and I didn't want my first time in a long time to be a wine induced rut that I was sure to regret. No matter how turned on I was, I had to have some standards. So, I hastily made my exit and not a quarter of an hour later, I'd received the letter inviting me to breakfast at Draco's house the next morning.

He cooked.

And now, it was Friday again. I still had not mentioned my liaison with Draco to my friends or parents. After getting over the initial shock of just _who _I was seeing, I still didn't think Mum and Dad could handle it.

I didn't really want to think about what Harry, Ginny and Ron would say. My stomach quivered at the thought. I didn't think there was really anything to tell anyway. I shared a few meals — and kisses — with Malfoy. It was hardly anything to make the headline news. Yeah, right.

"Hermione, you busy?"

I pulled myself from my thoughts and saw Ron in the doorway of my office. Draco and I agreed that it would be best not to see each other at work. We had never spoken before, so it would raise questions if suddenly a seventh level employee, other than Ron or Harry, came to see me everyday. I certainly wasn't slick enough to pull off a secret inter-office affair.

"Hello, Ron, come in."

"Can't, I'm supposed to be taking these files," he raised his hand holding the folder, "to the Minister in person. Last time, the memo got lost, never made it to the Minister's desk … it was a mess. Anyway, just came by to tell you that the lot of us are going over to George and Katie's tonight after dinner. See you there."

He didn't wait for my response and took off.

"Ron," I called. I didn't know what I would tell him. "Ron, wait."

His head appeared again in the door way. "What is it?"

I swallowed. "I can't make it tonight."

He stepped fully into the office now, a puzzled expression on his face. "Why, do you have to work late or something?"

I really couldn't be upset. After all, that was what I had been doing for the past several months. "No, I've just got … something to do this evening," I realized I sounded more cryptic than I had meant.

I thanked Merlin that Ron wasn't as intuitive as Harry—and that he was in such a rush to get to the Minister's office. Otherwise I would have had to lie, and I really didn't like lying to my friends. I always felt like they knew me too well and could see right through it.

"Does this have anything to do with a bloke?"

"Why would you ask that?" Oh, no.

"Harry mentioned that you might be seeing someone."

"Really? Since Harry is such an expert on my life, did he happen to mention who it might be? I'm dying to know." I really hoped he hadn't.

Ron shook his head a half second before he answered. "No."

I think he lied, but I smiled anyway. I've never known Harry to keep anything from Ron for long. "Ron, the next time you get curious just ask me right out."

He fixed his blue eyes on me so intensely, I could almost see him working it out in his head. He wanted to mention it, I could tell. Instead, he shrugged. "All right then, I s'pose I'll let everyone know. I've gotta go."

All these years and I think I might have underestimated Ron a little bit.

*******

I was more than a little worried that I had fallen into such easiness with Draco, especially after such a short amount of time. I was raised believing that being friends first led to the best relationships. That much had been true for my parents, my father's brother, even Harry and Ginny. So, when Ron and I had finally decided to be—more than friends, I was pretty sure he was it. The _it_. But, there was always something missing between Ron and me. We did the mundane stuff like the friends that we were, but our love making lacked—something. Lacked, lust and passion. It was good but not enough. I hadn't known what I needed until now.

It scared me that I'd found it in Draco Malfoy. And we hadn't even made love yet. He was someone I didn't know very well, and had certainly never been friends with. At some point in our lives, we had even hated each other. How ironic.

In an effort to keep our … acquaintance private, all of our dates had been at his house. Sounds boring at first, but I liked it. I liked spending time with him. Sure, I felt as if we'd skipped an important step, like we were missing out on something but neither of us could afford to be traditional with our dating habits. So, since we couldn't go out, we stayed in and mostly lounged about in each others arms. We still hadn't advanced past heavy kissing and touching; though, sometimes I thought it might be more of his effort than mine. He had been such a good boy.

Tonight, we were out on his patio sharing a large lounge chair. He was on his back, one hand propped behind his head, the other pinned beneath me. I was on my side, my head resting just below his shoulder.

The air smelled like fresh cut grass. It was late spring or early summer, so the sweet smell of flowers mingled through. I loved his place, but I hadn't mentioned it just yet.

"Tell me something," Draco said.

"Yes?"

He hesitated. "What is it like where you come from? Is it really so different from here?"

"Why?" That one word sounded suspicious even to me.

"No particular reason. I was just—curious."

I was still skeptical, but there was no harm in answering him. I started with the last question.

"No, it's actually not too different. Besides the lack of magical abilities, it's really quite the same." I paused, thinking. "The differences I think are that where we have magic, Muggles have technology."

"Like the telly and computers?"

"Exactly. They have cars and cameras and airplanes that fly faster than any broom."

Malfoy made a noise that sounded like a scoff.

"It's true," I said.

"I know about airplanes, but theirs is science. Ours is all magic."

"Does that make is better? It's still tons of metal suspended high above the ground going at tremendous speed."

He didn't say anything for a while, then, "What about the people?"

I thought about what his simple question might imply. "Some are good. Some are bad. Some are as wealthy as you and some are so poor they don't have food to eat. But they are all just people. Nothing separates them from us—from you, except what you _think_ of them. How we judge them."

He was quiet for a few minutes, and I looked up at him. He looked like he was playing with what I'd just said, rolling it around in his head. After a few more minutes he spoke again, one hand playing with a lock of my hair. "Do you think that if they knew about us, they would accept us?"

I assumed that by 'us' he meant all of us, pure-blood and Muggle-born alike. I thought about it. I didn't think much would be different there either. Some would be just as fascinated with us as Arthur was with Muggles. Some would hate us too, simply because we were different. It was sad but true. "People fear and hate what they don't understand," I said finally.

He didn't say anything. We lay still, and I could hear the steady thudding of his heart beneath my ear. His arm tightened, pulling me closer.

"Sometimes…" Draco started, and then stopped before he tried again. "I keep waiting for you to come to your senses. I keep thinking, I don't deserve this—you. I didn't work hard enough…"

"Are you calling me easy?" I teased.

He didn't laugh. "No, I just—"

I didn't interrupt again. Draco seemed to be on the verge of telling me something that clearly seemed hard for him. I thought sitting up, seeing his eyes, him looking back into mine would be too much pressure. So, I stayed still and quiet, waiting for him to continue. He did.

"All the things I've said, all that happened between us—that happened right in my father's house… Like I said, sorry just seems inadequate. But, I am—I am sorry."

I rolled my head up to meet those carefully guarded gray eyes and saw sorrow. The handful of times that I'd met his eyes over the years, I was certain that I'd never seen anything but disdain. Until recently.

He said, "Your face, so serious. What are you thinking?"

I smiled. "I was just thinking that it sounds like you're all grown up."

The corners of his mouth twitched and he shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

"I forgive you, Draco." I settled back against his chest, my cheek over his heart. His arm held me even tighter.

We didn't talk for a long time.

"I received my invitation to the ball a few weeks ago," Draco said finally.

Draco wasn't one to make small talk. I was instantly curious. "Yes, I did, too."

If silence had character, Draco's was … anxious.

"Would you accompany me to the ball this year, Hermione?"

Ah. Whatever I had been expecting him to say, it wasn't that. I was flattered and wanted to eagerly accept his invitation like some besotted school girl. But, part of me (that part that is pessimistic and anxious) thought of all the negative attention we would draw simply because of who we were and our blood "difference." Personally, I didn't give one fig about pure-blood or Muggle-born, but not everyone thought that way. My greatest concern was everyone else.

I know, I shouldn't care what anyone else thinks, but I do. That wasn't going to change any time soon.

My friends wouldn't care that he was pure-blooded. They would care that it was a Malfoy. His family had served Voldemort, the most evil dark-wizard in an age. I could understand--I was tortured in his father's house and Draco watched! But people changed, or in Draco's case, their true self emerged. And I was certain my friends weren't going to buy that.

Then, there was Draco's family and friends. I don't care how much they smiled for the cameras, I knew the truth. I knew that they still hated Muggles and Muggle-borns.

I put one hand on his sinewy chest and pushed my self up. I could feel the steady thumping of his heart quicken as he awaited my answer. It was on my tongue to refuse him. It would cause too many problems. The media would feed on it for days—possibly weeks. Our friends would also be unpleasantly surprised. We hadn't been dating long enough to cause that kind of trouble in our lives.

But I looked into his face, his handsome, fair face. His eyes were still guarded, but also as open as I felt he could be at this point. Here, I had a mysterious, attractive man that wanted me. I had wanted this for months, years maybe. If he was willing to ignore the stares just to be with me, then it would be quite stupid of me to push him away, to run from the very thing I wanted.

A crease formed on his forehead beneath the fringe of silky fine blonde hair. It should be against some law of nature for a man to have hair that perfect. He licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak.

I silenced him the only way I knew how--with a kiss. I loved kissing him. His lips were smooth and dry and soft.

It was chaste but quickly turned into something more. When neither of us could breathe, I pulled away. "Yes," I said. "I would love to go with you."

Draco inhaled deeply and exhaled in one quick blow. "I thought you were going to say no."

I rested my head back onto his shoulder. "I had you scared for a moment, didn't I?"

"You did."

"Hermione," he said after a pause, "I think I want to take you out properly. Is that alright with you? Tomorrow is the last night the Jesters are playing at the theater."

Apparently, he was feeling lucky. But that anxious feeling settled in my chest for the second time in less than an hour.

I wondered if he had wanted to go public this whole time? Was I the reason we'd spent the past three weeks staring at the sky out on his veranda? I felt a little ridiculous; I was making a tiny thing into a very Hagrid-sized problem.

So Malfoy wanted to go to the theater. Hundreds of couples did it quite frequently. Even more, pure-bloods, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns dated each other all the time. What was my worry?

I agreed to go out with him.

I went home that night in a rare optimistic mood. Maybe the fact that it would be Draco and Hermione wouldn't mean as much as I thought it would.

*******

By the time Draco showed up at my door to pick me up, I had convinced myself that I wouldn't be nervous. All of that went out of my head as soon as I saw him.

He wore a black suit that looked like they might be worth more than all of my living room furniture, complete with a black dress shirt and a black silk tie. The black made his alabaster skin even more pronounced. His hair had been carefully styled to look neat but messy.

The overall effect was sexy roguishness.

Something in my belly tightened as his eyes swept over me, head to toe and back again.

"Hermione," Draco drawled. "You look stunning."

"Thank you," I said; there was no use trying to be modest. I went through a load of trouble to achieve my look.

I wore a midnight blue satiny dress that fit snugly in all the right places. I'd gotten it on a whim while out shopping with Ginny months ago. I never thought I'd get the chance to wear it so soon, lucky me. I wore more of those skinny-heeled shoes, but I'd been careful about selecting ones that were stylish but not neck-breakingly stylish. I'd also wrapped a black shawl over my shoulders. I wasn't willing to freeze for fashion either.

I wore my hair twisted in a bun that looked more complicated than it was and finished the look with subtle make-up.

"Ready?" Draco asked.

I took one last deep breath. The question seemed ominous. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Draco took my hand. He instinctively licked his lips before he pressed his lips lightly across my knuckles. My skin was cool where the wetness from his lips lingered. I shivered, and he mistook it for something else.

"Relax," he said, "everything will be fine."

I hoped he was right.

The lobby of the theater looked just as it should: high vaulted ceilings, curving staircases to the left and the right leading to the balcony seats, and a grand chandelier. I could barely see through the sea of people though.

It was closing night for the popular comedy group. The lobby was a myriad of colorful dress robes, suits and dresses of almost every fabric known to wizard kind. Draco leaned in and said something to me, but his voice only blended in with the collective murmur of voices.

I felt Draco's hand find mine. Normally, I didn't like being led around in public like a misbehaving child, but I loved the feel of his skin. His skin was impossibly smooth, smoother than a man's skin had any right to be. Yet he was all man: his face angular, his shoulders broad enough to be clearly masculine, his fingers long with a firm grip. He led me toward the left stair case, and a group of people huddled closely together just beside it. I stopped.

We were less than five feet away when the brawny, tall wizard turned, a smile spreading across his face.

"Draco," Goyle called, "We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it."

Draco stopped walking, too. I refused to move forward, and he refused to let go. I was angry. I didn't like surprises; of course, Draco had no idea about that. Not my problem.

"Malfoy," I hissed under my breath.

He couldn't have heard me, but he turned to me just the same. He stepped in front of me and blocked his bulky friend from my view.

"Hermione, please. We would have had to do this sooner or later, right?"

Bugger him, he was right. Maybe it was the please. He rarely said please for anything.

"I just wish you would have told me … do they know?"

He never got to answer my question because Blaise Zabini had come up behind him. His brown hand clapped Draco on the shoulder.

"Malfoy, what the hell are you—" He spotted me, and he stopped talking as if his question had been chopped off in the middle.

I got my answer. Zabini was just as surprised to see me, and Draco gripping my hand, as I was to see him. All of them.

Draco gently squeezed my hand as he turned back to his friends. I'd deal with him later.

"Everyone, you know Hermione." What an opening line.

I waited while everyone finished exchanging meaningful looks. Now, I could see that it was the same group that had been at Magick Spot. Goyle, Zabini, Greengrass, Parkinson, and Lavender.

Pansy and Daphne shared one more meaningful glance than the others. Daphne looked positively peeved. Pansy leaned in to whisper in her ear, but I never got a chance to see Daphne's reaction.

"Hermione! What are you doing here?" Lavender asked, sidling up beside me.

Malfoy let go of his death grip on my hand to greet the rest of the group. He kept his eyes on me like he was afraid I was going to make a run for it. Imagine that.

"Hi Lavender," I said. "I'm just here to see the Jesters like everyone else."

She smiled a dazzling smile and narrowed her eyes on me. "I know that. I mean are you dating Draco?" She whispered the last bit like it was a juicy piece of gossip.

Well, at least no one could accuse her of being indirect. I really didn't know how to answer it. What were we telling people? I hadn't even known that we _were_ telling people. At least not tonight.

Luckily, I didn't have to answer. Draco was back at my side, gripping my hand as if his life depended on it.

"We better get inside and get our seats," he said.

Pansy and Daphne were the first through to go up. I noticed they had barely even looked my way.

"We'll talk later," Lavender said. She took Zabini's elbow and started up the stairs, too. Not if I could help it.

"Hermione," Draco said.

"Malfoy," I said and threw up a hand to stop him. I knew that if we talked about this now, it would be a huge row. "Let's just enjoy the evening. We'll discuss it later."

Draco looked like he was struggling to control himself. He probably wasn't used to people cutting him off like that. Good, he'd better get used to it.

He turned and placed a hand low on my back to guide me but didn't try to resume holding my hand.

We had a private box, which meant someone's father was footing the bill for this evening. These people were wealthy, but they didn't yet command the status of their parents. We took our seats just as the lights went dim. Naturally, I'd ended up between Lavender and Malfoy. I suppose it was better than being next any of the others.

I could feel equal energy from each side. They were both itching to talk to me. Right now I didn't want to talk to either. To my relief, Blaise said something to Lavender and pulled her attention from me.

I could only feel Draco's eyes trained on me.

"I really don't see why you're so upset," he whispered. He was close to my ear. I could feel the heat of his breath tickling my lobe. I could smell the mint on his breath. I fought not to react, not to close my eyes and bite my lip. I won, good for me.

The audience erupted into laughter. The opening scene was a battle scene, and one of the actors had just shot a burst of bubbles from his wand at his opponent. I didn't laugh.

"Draco, will you please not talk to me. I'm trying to watch the show." I hadn't even looked at him.

He leaned back over into his space. Moments later, I felt him reach for my hand. I folded my arms across my chest.

"You're being really immature," he finally pointed out.

I turned to him, an incredulous look on my face. "Immature? If you were in my place, you'd be the same way."

Draco rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the stage.

About thirty minutes into the show, I could tell that Draco wasn't watching the performance. He hadn't laughed once. Neither had I. There was really no point in spending the entire night in a foul mood. Besides, in my peripheral vision, I could see Lavender and Blaise doing more than holding hands. Great. I stood, and without looking at Draco, I crossed over him and made my way out of the box, down the stairs and into the lobby.

It was deserted, only a few staff members littered the area. I blinked in the sudden brightness. I went to a waiting area in the corner and sat on the bench. A few seconds later, as I knew he would, Draco came out. His face was blank, his pale eyes unreadable.

He sat down next to me, leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands. His thigh brushed mine.

"I'm still so angry with you. I can't believe what you did," I said.

"I apologize," he said stiffly. I wondered how much that had cost him.

"Malfoy—" I began.

"No, it's fine. I should have asked you first. I just—" he stopped and fell silent.

"You're absolutely right, you should have asked. I hate surprises. I hate being caught off guard like that and totally unprepared especially in front of your friends." I paused. "I get the feeling that they weren't too happy either."

"It doesn't matter what they think, Hermione."

I laughed so abruptly it sounded condescending, even to me. "Please, you of all people don't care about image?"

"Don't laugh at me," he said. He sat up and turned to me, his gray eyes were so intense. Could eyes the color of storm clouds be fiery?

"Don't do anything like this again, then."

Something in his eyes flared even more, but I never got to know what it was.

"Draco, is everything all right?" Daphne Greengrass was a few feet away. I hadn't even heard her approach.

"Everything is fine, Daphne. Go back to the show," Draco said. He reached for my hand and pulled it into his lap, waiting for her to leave.

"Are you sure, I heard—"

"I said I'm fine. Go back inside."

If looks could kill, the look she gave me would have stopped my heart in its tracks. I slid my eyes to Draco. I realized that just then was the first time I doubted the honesty of Draco's words. Was there more to him and Daphne than he was letting on?

He looked at the clock on the wall.

"The show's almost over. I guess there's no point in going back inside. Do you want to get out of here?"

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That, with Daphne. She came all the way out here to check on you? Draco," I said and pulled my hand from his. "If there is something between the two of you, tell me now."

Draco didn't blink. "I've told you. There is nothing between us; we're barely friends. You can't think I'm that thick, can you? Why would I bring you along if I were dating Daphne?"

Well. When he said it like _that_.

I still didn't know if I believed him totally, but I had no choice. Well, I did, but I had no actual proof that he'd lied. I'd take his word this time. I would trust him.

"Let's go," I said finally.

He gathered my hand again and though we were both still angry, I let him pull me close. We had almost made it to the exit doors when I heard it.

"Hermione?"

I turned in slow motion. As if easing the band-aid off, peeling the corners back, would be less painful than snatching it.

I would know Ron Weasley's voice anywhere. I would also know when that voice was upset. Right now, it was very, very upset.

He pulled his hand free of his date's, the pixie woman named Charlotte, and started in our direction. I felt Draco tense up, and I stepped in front of him. Not to protect him because with heels, I was at least three inches shorter than Draco's six foot frame. And he was shorter than Ron by at least two. So, no, I wasn't protecting anyone, but if Ron wanted to hurt Draco, he'd have to hurt me first.

I didn't think he wanted to do that. At least it was what I told myself as I watched the freckles on his face turn an angry scarlet.

"Ron, wait," I said. I put my hand on his chest when he finally reached us. But it was like pulling the leash of an angry dog. It only fed his purpose, and he wasn't hearing me. It wasn't until Charlotte came and put her hand on his arm that he seemed to snap out of his—fit.

"Ron," I said. "Ron, what's wrong with you?"

Draco laughed a bitter, humorless laugh. "It's Weasley. You don't even have to ask."

Ron started at him again, but Charlotte held onto his arm.

I said, "Draco, don't help, please."

Ron finally noticed me. "Since when's he Draco to you?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I don't think here is the place to have this conversation. Let's go—"

"Are you dating him?" He said dating like a much more profane word. I was finally mad.

"I certainly don't see how it concerns you, Ron."

His eyes went wide. I could see too much white around the blue. "His father was practically screwing Vol—Him. He's a Death Eater, Hermione. Just because the Ministry can't prove it, doesn't mean it isn't true."

"Can you prove it, Weasley?" Draco said.

Ron either didn't hear him or wisely chose to ignore him. But, I knew it wasn't true. No Dark Mark marred Draco left forearm. If he ever did Voldemort's work, it had been by force. I didn't think any of that would matter to Ron. He narrowed his blue, blue eyes on mine and put both his hand on my shoulders.

"Hermione, he watched while his aunt tried to kill you. You deserve better than him. I would prefer you to come to me than him." He thrust his chin in Draco's direction.

Ah, so that was it. He thought I was so desperate for love that I went to any man that would have me. I said as much. "So, that's what you think Ron? I'd become lonely and desperate and in the grip of my pathetic loneliness I turned to the arms of any man that would have me? Those arms happened to be Draco?" I jerked myself free of his hands.

"Hermione, that's not what I said."

"It's not what you said, but it's what you meant, Ronald." I looked at Charlotte Bell, who hadn't made a peep throughout this whole thing. "I'm so sorry you had to see this."

She cast her eyes downward. She didn't reply, but her cheeks flushed almost as red as Ron's.

That was odd. What did she have to be ashamed of? I wanted to ask, but I wanted to be out of there even more. "Come on, Draco, let's go," I said instead.

I had turned to leave, but Ron's hand on my wrist stopped me. I looked back, but not at his face. I stared at his hand on the bare skin of my wrist. He held me, and I looked at the joining of our bodies trying to radiate complete disapproval. Most people will back off when your reaction to their touch is that strong. He didn't.

"Hermione, you can't leave with him," Ron said. His voice was too calm, too steady for the type of request he was making.

"Let go of me, Ron." His grip tightened, and that first spark of panic that said _this has the potential to get out of hand_ thrilled through me.

I pulled my arm, testing him. My hand wasn't going anywhere.

"Ron, let go of me," I tried again, louder. Maybe reversing the wording would work.

"Ms. is everything all right here?" I looked up and an usher peered at us from a safe distance. He was tall, almost as tall as Ron and big. Not fat, but solid, as if he ate steak and potatoes and lifted baby thestrals.

"I'm fine," I said in a voice that did not match the situation. "Ron, let go. You're causing a scene." I whispered the last part.

"Hermione, you cannot leave with Malfoy," he said.

"Sir," the usher said. "I think you should take your hands off the lady."

"This is my—" but I never got to hear what I was to Ron because Draco's fist came out of nowhere to smash into Ron's nose.

Ron went down, a hand covering his nose, but I could already see blood running down his face.

I whirled around, "Draco! Why did you hit him? Have you all gone mad?"

Draco just looked down at the other man with a pleased expression on his face. He shook his hand and flexed the fingers like they do in the Muggle films.

The usher ran over to check on Ron. "Sir, are you okay? Do you need to see a mediwizard?"

Ron jerked from the man's touch and stood, swaying to his feet. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

The usher looked at Draco and me. "Ms. I'm going to have to ask you and your friend to leave the premises, or I'll need to call the authorities."

But I didn't hear what he said, not really. I just looked at Ron, my friend. He had moved his hand. I didn't think his nose was broken, but blood had run down his chin, a few crimson drops stained the gleaming white dress shirt under his robes like some kind of macabre painting.

I said, "I am so sorry, Ron."

"Did you hear me, ma'am? You need to leave."

"Come on, Hermione. Let's go," Draco said.

I looked at Ron one last time. We went.

* * *

**Notes:** Thanks to my beta, BookofSecrets, she's great! So, I really didn't want to write Angry!Ron. I wonder why he always turns out to be really upset in fanfiction? But after I wrote and re-wrote the end of the chapter, he was still angry. I think he was more shocked than angry, though. We'll see. Also, this is where the story really picks up (to me at least). Lots of things happen after this... I'm wondering, do any of you have any ideas as to who the killer is?

Thank you for reading and for your reviews...I value the compliments as well as the critiques!


	7. The Hard Thing

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, magic, settings, and storylines belong to JKR. Only the plot and OCs are mine.**

**Chapter 7: The Hard Thing**

**~***~**

We sat at my small kitchen table not talking. Draco's face was closed and only his loosened tie and tousled hair, as if he'd been running his fingers through it, told me he wasn't as calm as he pretended to be.

I'd gone straight to the bedroom and removed the heels from my feet and the pins from my hair. I knew that it was rude to leave a guest just standing in the middle of my living room. I was angry with him, and I wanted him to know it. I took my time in the bathroom, washing my face and brushing my hair. I decided not to change out of the dress and into something more comfortable. It might send the wrong message.

I now held a cluster of ice cubes wrapped in a hand towel to his knuckles. I'd tried to ease the pain with potions, but I was no healer so an old fashioned cold compress was the best I could come up with to help the swelling. The ice was beginning to melt, and I wished I'd had the mind to use a stasis charm. Oh well.

I tried not to make eye contact with him. I could feel the weight of his stare, but I said nothing because I was still upset with him. I knew the fact that I was nursing him detracted from the effectiveness of my silent anger.

At least he hadn't used his wand. It would have quickly turned into an idiotic dueling match … a match of masculinity.

To be fair, I was also upset with Ron. I guess I'd thought that they both had grown out of ancient grievances enough to exist in the same room. If _I _could forgive and move past certain things in my life, they should be able to as well. But I realized now that it had been wishful thinking, child's thinking. Not reality. Both men were set in their ways, and it was only by some twisted turn of fate that this pale, handsome man sat across from me now, staring at me with such intensity.

It wasn't the kind of intensity that I knew he had that could almost make me squirm in discomfort, like he could tell me with his eyes that I was less, beneath him. I'd spent years at Hogwart's learning the meaning of that stare. Now, he stared at me like I was a puzzle, and before he physically shifted the pieces into place, he wanted to get a visual of the picture he wanted to create.

Draco cleared his throat, and it took him two tries to say, "You're still mad at me. Why? I was helping you."

"I can't believe you have to ask," I quipped.

I finally looked at him. His striking eyes were unreadable; he didn't even blink, but a tiny, barely noticeable crease formed over his brow.

I sighed, heavy and loud. "I should be, but I can't be angry at you for who you are."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means that you and Ron have always provoked each other, and I realize now that it's never going to change. No matter what you feel for me, you will always hate Ron."

"He hurt you," he said, as if that explained everything. He didn't deny anything I'd said, but he was wrong about Ron.

"He didn't hurt me," I said. "Ron has always been protective of me. I don't like it, but it's the truth."

And it was the truth. From the moment Ron and I had become friends, he'd always treated me like someone to protect. First he treated me like Ginny, like another little sister; then, when our feelings had grown into something more, he felt that as my boyfriend he always had to defend my honor. I appreciated this and knew that it was his way of loving me, but I was not a damsel in distress. In some cases, it had really been I who had protected him.

"Hermione," Draco said. His voice was soft, like he was coaxing the truth from a child. "I would never have touched him if he hadn't touched you first."

"He didn't hurt me," I repeated.

Draco raised his uninjured hand and grabbed my right hand like my fingers were delicate, little rose petals. He held my hand up so I could see my wrist. The clear, red outline of Ron's long fingers wrapped all the way around my wrist. I sucked air in through my teeth.

It really didn't hurt, but it surprised me. Maybe Ron had grabbed me harder than I thought. Maybe Draco had a point. I moved my hand to my lap beneath the table. Damn.

"Like I said, he hurt you. Even if he didn't do it on purpose, a man that doesn't know his own strength shouldn't… handle you that way. You're the one that said it; he thought he was protecting you." He said the last bit like the words tasted foul.

"I appreciate that you … care for me, Draco, but I don't need you to protect me either. I am an adult, and beyond that, a very capable witch. I don't need protection from my friends."

Draco shook his head. "If I hadn't been there, Weasley would have probably hurt you worse than this."

"Draco, if you hadn't been there, then Ron wouldn't have had any reason to be angry in the first place."

Draco drew back as if I'd struck him, and I immediately wished I could take back those last words. His face went blank and unreadable again.

"Hermione," he said. He spoke slowly like he was thinking about each word before he said it. "When I first approached you, I told you I would understand if you wanted nothing to do with me. If you—" He stopped and frowned at the wet towel on the table. He started over. "You still have that option. But if you take it Hermione, it has to be for you. Not for Weasley or Potter or anyone else. I don't want to end anything before we even have the chance, but—it's your choice."

He paused and looked up at me. "What do you want to do?"

I was a little stunned. It might have been only the second time that Draco had really opened up to me. He was usually quiet when it came to emotions and most talkative about money, Quidditch, and _things_. I was beginning to cherish these conversations because they were so rare. Even this one—as uncomfortable as it made me.

I let the question hang in the air. I went into the kitchen and started making tea the Muggle way. I even had an old fashioned kettle that I used. It had once belonged to my grandmother, and I remembered that she would always use it to make us peppermint tea when I was younger. I filled it with water and took two cups from the cupboard. I nearly dropped them when Draco spoke again from directly behind me. There was no carpeting in the kitchen, and he still moved too quietly to be completely normal.

Must be a Slytherin thing.

"This is strange for me, too," he said. "It's only been three weeks, and I don't really know what to do here. No matter how much we say everything that happened in the past should stay there, they still happened. We can't change it. And in some twisted way, without it I don't think we'd be here today. I know I've done really terrible things to you—I'm sorry. But, I've been thinking. I want to be with you, together with you."

He sounded so sure.

I turned to face him. This couldn't be Draco Malfoy standing in my kitchen saying these things to me. It just couldn't be, and yet, it was. I wasn't surprised to find him so close, less than a deep breath away. It would be more natural to touch, as close as we were standing, but we didn't.

His cologne, the heat from his body—it muddled my reasoning even more. I stared up at him, and as many reasons as I came up with to take the offer, to stop things before I was in too deep, I couldn't do it for one reason. I wanted Draco—whatever that included--more than I wanted to exist in a safe, loveless cocoon.

I rose up on my toes and kissed him. He was stunned at first, just standing there letting me press my lips to his. Then, he relaxed. One hand came up to rest lightly on my shoulder, and his other cupped my face. His lips were soft and tasted only as I knew Draco could.

Then, what was once sweet and chaste grew into something more. It was urgent and seeking but gentle. We had never kissed like this before, and it startled me. He had both hands on my face and kissed me as if he wanted to devour me from the mouth down.

He parted his lips, inviting me in, and I tasted. I tasted every bit of the wet, warm cavern of his mouth. I must have been too eager because he staggered back a step. He caught himself and his hands slid to my waist, hoisting me up. In one swift movement I was on the counter top, my dress riding high on my thighs. The feeling of Draco's body pressed deliciously to my center was exquisite. I threw my head back, exposing my neck, and he took the opportunity to kiss along the column of my throat.

The kettle pierced the mood with a high, whistling noise. Draco startled and jumped back. I let out a most unladylike noise of frustration. It took me two tries to cut the gas and move the kettle from the eye. The shrilling stopped. The atmosphere buzzed in the wake of our sudden fit of passion.

"It's just the kettle," I said. I must have looked like something wanton. My hair was wild and loose, curls everywhere, dress hiked nearly to my waist. I had the sense of mind to close my legs at least.

"You never answered my question," he said. His cool tone was belied by the flush high on his cheeks. "Just give the word, and I can be gone from your life."

"Draco … I …"

"Just answer the question. What do you want?' he repeated.

His jaw was clenched, and the flush in his face I suspected was now from his growing anger. I wanted to be with him, too. As twisted as it all sounded, I was willing to risk my friendships for a chance at—something (love?)—with Draco Malfoy.

I wanted to see what might be between us. After all, my friends couldn't live my life for me, some needs they just could not fulfill. They each had someone they cared for without ever having consulted _me_. I deserved the same opportunity. Or maybe I was crazy. Either way …

"I want you," I said.

"Are you sure?" he asked in that same cool voice.

"Positive." I stilled myself against the ensuing conversation, no backing out now. "On one condition," I added.

"And that would be?"

I suddenly found the floor tiles to be quite interesting. I spoke to them. "Promise that you will always be honest with me and in return I will be honest with you. If you ever feel like it's too much just tell me."

There was a pause and I slowly raised my eyes to meet his.

"What are you afraid of?" He was very still and his voice was cautious, any sudden movement and he might scare me away.

"What if you hurt me or I hurt you? That is to say, what if this doesn't work out? You must see the irony of the situation. In all likelihood, this could end badly, and—and I just don't want to be hurt." His jaw was working, and I could see him thinking. "People are going to hate this—us. They won't understand. I just think that if you ever begin to feel pressured, I would understand."

"I can see why you would have those reservations. I have never given you a reason to trust me. In fact, I've only proved to be the most distrustful person you've ever come across."

"I wasn't saying that." God, he was making this hard.

"No, but it's the truth. Hermione, no one can be sure of any relationship. I cannot predict the future, but if it means anything to you, I can give you my word. My word that I will never purposefully betray or hurt you."

There was something in his eyes akin to emotion, but what that emotion was I could not tell. Still, I felt compelled to believe him. My pulse sped, and I spoke the only word that came to mind, "Okay."

"Okay?"

I nodded. "Yes, you and I."

Draco gave a sheepish, almost boyish smile I didn't even know he had and came toward me. Sweet Godric, had I just entered a relationship with Draco Malfoy? Feeling slightly lightheaded, I stifled a giggle.

He slid both arms around my waist and picked up where he left off, only more slowly, more sensually. He trailed a line of kisses from my ear to my collarbone and spoke with his lips hovering just above my skin. "I am sorry about tonight," he whispered.

His warm breath caressed a sensitive spot on my neck. I shivered and had trouble remembering what he was sorry for. I didn't care.

"I forgive you," I breathed.

He chuckled, sending pleasant sensations dancing through my body. He trailed more kisses around my throat and up my jaw to my other ear.

"That was easy," he whispered and flicked his tongue, just the tip, on the curve of my ear.

I didn't answer; I could only concentrate on the sensations. The feeling of his bare chest as my hand found its way beneath his shirt. The feeling of his lips and tongue playing on my neck and shoulders. It felt as if every nerve ending floated just beneath the surface of my skin on my neck and those nerve endings were connected to things lower in my body. Instinctively, I rolled my hips, and Draco grunted in response. Even through his trousers and my knickers I could feel the heat and hardness of him. He was ready.

That brought me out of the haze rather quickly. I had not been with a man in more than a year. We — Draco had never let us get this far. He had always pulled away before he made me feel rushed or uncomfortable. After that first kiss, he had been a perfect gentleman. But now I knew Draco was ready, but was I?

Oh, my body was ready. My body hummed with built up tension, lust, and excitement about our new status. But, was I ready in mind and heart? It didn't seem logical that I would commitment myself to him and not include my body. I didn't think I could take it if Draco lost interest after we'd slept together, but he had given me his word that he would never hurt me. I still believed him.

He must have noticed my hesitation because he stopped and looked at me.

"What's the matter?" he said. His forehead was creased, brows pulled together.

We were both adults here. If we couldn't talk about it, we shouldn't be doing it.

"I haven't had — been with a man for a long time," I confessed.

His face smoothed out and he nodded. He took a deep breath. "How long?"

"More than a year." I felt my cheeks blush, and I fought not to look away from his eyes.

"Six and a half months," he said.

"What?"

"Six and a half months since I've … had sex."

I pulled myself from his embrace. "You don't have to lie to try and make me feel better."

He blinked and seemed surprised. "I'm not lying. It's the truth, I haven't had sex in six months. I work so much that I haven't really had time to date a woman properly." He turned his eyes from me. "And I don't really do the casual sex bit."

I was more than surprised. Draco was one of a handful of wizards all over nearly every wizarding magazine printed. And if the Muggles had known who he was, he'd probably be all over theirs as well. I had just assumed that he had taken advantage of his status — you know, rich and single.

But I didn't say any of this out loud.

"Why?" I asked.

"I mean it's not to say that I haven't before. I'm not some saint. I guess I just want different things now," he said.

"What kinds of things?"

He shrugged. "Not a one-off kindled by lukewarm feelings."

"I can respect that. Actually, I'm the same way." Though, I'm sure some would say that my arrangement with Ron had been casual. But Ron had been different—history and all. Draco didn't need to know this, though.

"So," he said. "What would you like to do?"

I didn't need to think about it. "I want you to kiss me again."

And he did. I wrapped my legs around him and kissed him back hungrily. We were both panting when Draco lifted me up and broke the kiss.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing, just can't believe you're all mine."

I led him blindly in the direction of my bedroom. Stumbling in the dark, with my hands roaming his perfect body, I couldn't believe it either.

* * *

Notes: Thanks to my beta reader BookofSecrets. Thanks for reading!!


	8. Sweet Dreams

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Sweet Dreams**

Draco was down to his trousers before we could reach the bedroom.

I was like a woman starved. My hands greedily roamed every lean, lithe inch of his torso while my eyes drank in the sight, and God, I thought he was beautiful. There was a light smattering of silken hair on his chest and a downy trail of white-blond hair that started on his stomach just beneath the navel and disappeared into his trousers.

His body was firm and the muscles sinewy under my hands.

In the dim light, he was flawless except for a scar that ran from his left collar bone to wrap toward his right side, like he'd been slashed. Absently, I traced my fingers over it. It was shiny and flat-- a very old scar.

"What happened to you?" I asked.

"Potter hexed me in sixth year," he said. His voice was cool, carefully blank.

I remembered that Harry had used some spell he'd never even heard of before on Draco. He told me about the blood, so much blood, and how Snape had saved Draco that night. It had been stupid of Harry to use magic he didn't know. I leaned forward and traced the tip of my tongue along his one imperfection. He didn't make a sound, except for a barely audible intake of breath.

I let my hands follow the trail of my lips and continue up over the pebbled nipples on his chest. I lingered there, nipping, touching, and tasting until he gently grabbed my wrists and pulled me away.

He slid my dress down, letting it pool at my feet. I was now clad in only my dark-blue satin bra and knickers that I'd chosen because they were virtually seamless and invisible under my garments. Now, watching Draco's face watch me, I discovered that it served an entirely different purpose.

A look crossed him that I might have called pained if we had been in any other situation. The way he looked at my body was incredibly erotic. A blush that heated me from head to toe slowly spread over my body, leaving a tingling sensation in my extremities.

He smirked. "My turn."

It didn't take long to figure out what he meant.

He held me just below the rib cage, his long fingers massaging over the soft flesh there. He watched me with his lips slightly parted as his hands slid up, tortuously slow, and stopped just at the edge of my bra. He looked questioningly at me, and I understood his request for permission. I covered his hands in mine, and together we cupped my breasts through the satiny material. I dropped my hands, and he took over. My breasts filled his hands, and he rolled my already sensitive nipples between his fingers until they were furled tightly at his touch.

My eyes fluttered, and my head fell forward. Draco worked my breasts, kneading and rolling the nipples, the sensations echoing deep in lower parts of my body. And too suddenly, it was over. I hazily sensed his fingers fumbling with the clasp of my bra. I tried to help him when he made a small sound of frustration.

"No," he said, grabbing my wrists, "let me."

I silently urged him to free my breasts the best way I knew how. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, slowly and softly. I savored the texture of his lips and the taste of his mouth. It was spicy-sweet, like cinnamon. He calmed under my gentle kiss and suddenly the offending garment had vanished.

He used his thumbs to massage slow circles over both nipples before bending to take one into his mouth. He suckled and licked at it before releasing it with a 'pop' and moving to the other. Finally he gave my nipples a particularly sharp pinch, and I cried out. I bucked against him, rubbing my sensitive peaks along his chest in the process.

I let him back me up until my knees hit the edge of the bed, forcing me to sit. It was fine with me; my legs were as weak as water anyway.

But the rest of me burned, and suddenly, this wasn't going fast enough. I wanted to see, to touch, every inch of him. He leaned in to kiss me but froze when I slid one hand up along his inner thigh. I firmly cupped him. He was so hard and ready for me. Draco emitted a sound that seemed to resonate deep in his chest. It was easily the most erotic sound I'd ever heard.

He stepped out of my hands and quickly began to undo the trousers. I glanced at his face and found that he was still watching me. His eyes were so unguarded that I couldn't look away. It was the one occasion that I'd seen everything he was feeling in that moment plain on his face. Desire, sex — fear?

The clinking of his belt buckle pulled me from my trance, and I let my eyes travel down his body to where his trousers had stretched over his groin, leaving nothing to the imagination. I ignored my inner voice that worried about everything, and before I could stop myself, I reached forward and slipped a finger into a belt loop, bringing Draco forward between my knees.

Once I began, there was no going back. I was as eager as Draco's hands had felt when he'd been fumbling with my bra. I had to force my brain to focus on one thing at a time: first unbutton, then unzip ….

Air escaped my lungs in short panting gasps. I brought his trousers and pants down over the swell of his buttocks. I lightly drug my nails over the fleshy area as I brought my hands forward to grasp his trousers and pants in the front, lifting out and down.

I swallowed. My heart beat like a trapped thing. He was as beautiful here as he was all over the rest of his body; straight and long and thick. Skin, so pale I could see the pinkish flush of blood underneath, jutting proudly from the pale hair at its base. I didn't think. My hands drifted up the back of his thighs to cup his bum with both hands.

"Hermione, you don't have to do this," Draco said. His voice was breathy and indicated the level of his desire.

But, I _wanted _this so badly I could feel the answering throb below in synch with my heartbeat.

I said nothing, but I took him in my hand and gently _squeezed_. His breathing quickened, but he otherwise remained passive and allowed me to acquaint myself.

I savored the feel of him in my hand. So thick and hard and impossibly soft in the same instant like pulsing steel overlaid with silk. It was hotter than the rest of him and almost seemed to throb with a heartbeat of its own. I stroked him, using my thumb to spread the fluid that beaded at its tip.

I was entranced. The soft moans Draco emitted were immensely satisfying and arousing. Suddenly, as the thought came to me, I leaned forward and softly, barely brushed my lips against the smooth, hot head.

A sharp gasp forced my eyes up, and Draco watched me with that look of pleasure-pain on his face. He put a hand on my shoulder and blindly reached out with the other for anything to hold onto, catching nothing but air. Encouraged, I parted my lips and let him slide past my lip and deep into my mouth. I marveled of the feel of him in my mouth, resting on my tongue. I pulled back, sucking hard and leaving him shining with my saliva. Forward again, this time a little deeper, a little faster. I let one hand drift between his legs and cup his delicate sac.

I moved faster, alternating between swirling my tongue around the tip and sucking him deep into my mouth, all the time holding, stroking his scrotum. Draco began making a low keening sound deep in his throat. Both hands were now tangled loosely in my hair. His hips lightly swayed back and forth, and I tasted that first saltiness of him and knew he was close.

"Ah-ah, please, Hermione, stop," he pleaded. His voice quivered in a choked whisper.

I drew back one last time, and he grabbed my shoulder and went up on his toes. "Please! I don't want to come like this."

He shuddered as he slid from between my lips only to remain suspended in mid-air. I leaned back to see his face. He was breathing as if he'd just run the length of a Quidditch pitch. He was sweating, and his face was flushed red enough to match the so-hard bit of him bobbing in front of my face. He stepped out of his trousers and only then did I realize that Draco was now completely nude. I looked at him, all of him. He was lean and fair, very randy, and it was all for me--like some kind of fay from my sexual dreams.

"I love that look on your face," Draco said.

"What look?" I asked, embarrassed that I had been caught ogling him so openly. He climbed onto the bed and brought himself up beside me, brushing his tip along my thigh. I was acutely aware of how hard he was and the trail of his own moisture he left.

He kissed a line from my cheek to my ear and spoke, sending hot air dancing over my sensitive skin. "That look of complete and utter hunger," he whispered, "as if you are starving, and I am your meal."

I looked at him then. I'd had a sarcastic comment on the tip of my tongue about waxing poetic but the look on his face stopped me.

"Like you're looking at me now," I barely whispered.

He smirked and leaned forward to kiss me. I quickly forgot my embarrassment as he used fingers, tongue and teeth to tune my body like an instrument, tweaking me here and there. He was so good with the foreplay. He drew it out until my body was feverish with want, and suddenly, his hand glided over the softness of my belly and into my panties without any further preamble.

My eyes rolled back into my head, and I made whimpering noises as he worked me between my legs. Making small circles and flicking, back and forth, over that small nub of pleasure. One finger deftly traced my opening then slid deep inside.

He made a strangled noise that almost sounded like, "Wet." I finally focused on his face again. He was so concentrated on me, so intense … so hot. I reached up and drew him into another deep, soulful kiss.

He flexed and flicked his fingers with surety against that place inside of me. It tore our mouths apart with a smacking sound. I nearly bit my lip in half trying to hold in some of the obscene noises coming from some place deep inside me. Suddenly, I reached down and held his hand steady while I moved myself against him.

"Yes," he urged. "Please come for me." He dipped his head, taking a nipple into his mouth.

I felt it building up inside, pulling me back like an archer would his bow. One last flick of his thumb and stroke of his fingers sent me over. Flung from my body, I was suddenly soaring with nothing but Draco's hands to bring me back. And he did. Then sent me over again and again, moaning and writhing, before I thought to try and tell him to stop. It was too much. It felt too good.

Distantly, I heard Draco say something. It sounded like a spell based on the cadence of his voice, but beyond that I couldn't bring myself to care. I was still settling back into my body when I felt Draco slide my panties down and off. We were both now completely naked. I felt him move between my legs. I opened my eyes and his face was _there_. He inhaled deeply and shuddered. He eyed me through a curtain of dark lashes as he lowered his face between my legs.

"My turn," he whispered.

Long slow licks, plundering fingers and deep pulls of his mouth had me grinding myself against him most obscenely. He had barely begun before I was pulling him up to me, kissing him and tasting myself on his mouth. I wanted him inside me so badly I could have wept.

"Please, make love to me, Draco."

I spread my legs in invitation offering everything I had. I lowered one hand to stroke the thick length against my belly. I could see the strain on his face, the control it took not to drive himself home, drive me into the mattress. "Are you sure?" he asked.

I opened my mouth and said the only thing I could, "God, yes."

That seemed to be enough because, slowly, he sunk himself inside until I felt him pressed against my body. He sighed as though sinking sore muscles into a hot bath. He just rested and let his eyes close.

I watched him in fascination as he slowly came back. As he opened those hungry eyes and eventually focused on my face.

He swallowed. "So wet. So tight." His voice lilted on the end.

I watched Draco pull himself out of my body and back in. The sight of it was too much, and I suddenly didn't care about the noises I made. He was surprisingly thicker than I would have thought. Even with my body more than ready for him, I could feel every inch of him work its way inside, caressing my walls. He worked in and out, in and out eventually finding his own careful rhythm.

"Harder," I managed between breaths. My voice was lower, a deep contralto.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said. He didn't move harder, but spread his legs, lowered his body so that he moved deeper. I lifted my legs higher, and wrapped them around his body.

"Draco, please you won't hurt me."

He shook his head, never stopping that steady pumping into my body. "No, it's been too long; I don't want to hurt you. Next time —"

"I thought — I just told you — that you don't need to protect me."

He stopped, still sheathed inside my body.

"Please, don't stop."

He waited the space of another heartbeat, studying my face through lidded gray eyes. Finally, he pulled me to him, angling my hips just a bit. If possible, it was even deeper this way, and I felt him all the way inside, like inhaling him with each breath. Yes.

"Harder," I whispered.

Then he was fucking me. That was the only word for it. It was hard and fast and loud. I felt like there was something I should be remembering, but I couldn't think. I could only concentrate on the sound of flesh slapping flesh, on the wave of pleasure each time he passed over that spot inside of me. We moved together, rising and falling in tandem. I was begging and screaming unintelligible things and pulling the sheets.

Through all of that, I managed to hear Draco calling my name. "Hermione, Hermione look at me." His voice was strained and breathy.

I did. I fought not to close my eyes and to watch his face contort with pleasure. I watched the strange fire burn through the cool color of his eyes. Then the orgasm hit me. That deep, muscle clenching, toe-cracking kind of orgasm that should have liquefied my brain. I didn't even feel it coming, one moment I was lost to his eyes the next I was weeping with pleasure. My body trembled and clenched around Draco's, and he cried out. He lost the rhythm to erratic, fitful thrusts.

His hands clenched my hips, digging in almost painfully when he came. I welcomed it. "Fuck, yessss," he hissed.

I opened my eyes just in time to see Draco's face slack, his lips parted. His short hair clung to his forehead. There was something almost effeminate about his face in contrast to the straining muscles in his arms and neck. He spasmed and groaned and then, it caught me again, and we both rode the waves of pleasure to the end.

Draco collapsed off to my side. I was thankful. I could barely move, and I didn't want to smother beneath his chest. I wrapped my arms around him as he laid trembling and twitching in my arms. His heart matched mine with its fierce thudding.

"Merlin, Hermione, you … God." he said. I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

We lay like that until the dried sweat chilled our bodies. Draco moved first. He found his wand some place near his clothes, and cleaned the combined juices from our bodies. Then, he turned off the light and pulled the sheets back. We climbed underneath them and automatically assumed the spooning position. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close to the heat of his body. I could feel the heaviness of sleep crawling over us.

"I never would have pegged you for a screamer," Draco said in that relaxed, sated voice everyone assumes after a really good orgasm.

I didn't even open my eyes. "I knew you would ruin it some how."

I could feel the rumbling in his chest when he chuckled. "What do you mean?"

I didn't have to see his face to know his eyes shone with mischief; I could hear it in his voice. It felt sort of surreal, like, I couldn't _really_ be lying here in Draco Malfoy's arms after the best sex I'd had in years. Possibly ever. If it hadn't been for the fact that I could feel the warmth of his body pressed against me, I might not have believed it _was_ real.

"You know what I mean," I said finally.

"I just mean, it was a surprise … and very hot to see you completely let go, hand yourself over to your senses."

He was right. I couldn't argue. I'd thought of nothing, seen nothing except the feel of Draco's body in mine. It could be dangerous, being so gone to your senses. But if you couldn't let go during sex, when could you?

Then, I remembered.

I sat up so quickly that Draco did too, startled. "Oh, no, no, no, _no_," I repeated. I'd forgotten the contraceptive spell. It was so irresponsible! It was so unlike _me_. And it was too late. The spell must be cast before intercourse, and there were no retroactive spells or potions. Sure it was only one time, but I've heard the saying; all it takes is one time to last a lifetime. Damn.

I looked at Draco. "What?" he asked looking bewildered.

"We forgot the contraceptive spell."

I felt the alarm flow from him like water. His face softened, and he fell back into the pillows, casually propping an arm behind his head. "Oh."

"Oh? I could be getting pregnant right this instant and all you have to say is 'oh'? Pardon me if I am the only one of us here that realizes the repercussions this could bring. I cannot have a baby right now. I especially cannot have _your_ baby …"

His face was blank. "Sorry? What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," I said, turning to fully face him, "just what I said."

"Would it really be that bad?"

"Yes, Draco, it most certainly would!"

He was thoughtful for only a moment. "Don't worry, _I_ remembered to cast the spell. I was careful not to sully your body with the Malfoy seed."

I frantically replayed the last hour in my head. I did remember Draco saying some kind of spell. And it had been before intercourse. Relief washed over me but was quickly replaced with embarrassment and remorse. I'd hurt his feelings. Draco was clearly pouting … in the manliest way possible, of course.

Through the patch of light coming in through the window, I could see that the sheet covered everything below his waist, but his upper body was bare. Watching the silvered smoothness of his torso in the moonlight made me pull the sheet to cover mine. I suddenly felt very ordinary next to him. I forced my eyes to meet his. His gray eyes looked otherworldly in the play of light and shadows.

"Draco, I didn't mean—"

"You meant exactly what you said, remember?" he said. He was angry, but at least he wasn't leaving. I could fix this.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"But you did mean it."

I couldn't believe we were actually having this conversation. It was all hypothetical, but still… I sighed.

"No, what I meant was I'm not ready to have a baby right now and especially with you because we aren't ready. Can you imagine the complications of having gotten me pregnant? Tradition is —"

"I know what the tradition is; I am to wed you if I impregnate you," he said.

"Exactly. How will we explain to our family and friends an engagement when we only became familiar with each other in the last month? Not only that. It's _Hermione_ and _Draco_. Even _I_ don't believe it sometimes. It would hurt the people we love and complicate our lives more than either of us is ready to handle at the moment."

"What have I told you about me making my own decisions? I wasn't lying before. I don't give a shit about what others think."

Yes, he'd said that before, but I didn't believe it. No matter how much a person changes, they can't change _everything_ about themselves. They wouldn't be themselves anymore. From the moment I met him, everything Draco had done had been for the approval of someone else. For him to say he didn't care at all, I couldn't — wouldn't believe it.

I ignored the voice in my head that argued the opposition. He'd introduced me to his friends, which was bound to get back to his parents. He was here, and he was upset that I'd nearly had a fit at the thought of being pregnant by him. Then, something occurred to me.

"Draco, you don't really want to get me pregnant, do you?" I asked because he couldn't. Not really. Why would he? That would mean he had entertained the thought of being married to me, and _that_ was too weird. Damn near farfetched. It had only been three weeks. Still stranger things have happened, maybe.

"No, don't be ridiculous. Now let's stop all the talking. You keep teasing me with that sheet, and I can't take it any longer."

He pulled the sheet from me, exposing my breasts to the moonlight and his hungry eyes. I was still puzzling over the conversation when he pulled me to him and captured my mouth in a kiss. It wasn't long before I was lost once again to my senses. The conversation was deferred, and Draco had conceded. But somewhere, deep inside, I knew that it wasn't over.

Still, I remembered the spell this time.

* * *

AN: So sorry for the long break. Next chapter will be much sooner. Thanks for being patient!


	9. The Morning After

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. I write for fun and to learn.

**Chapter 9: The Morning After**

*******

I woke the next morning feeling relaxed and pleasantly sore in certain places.

I realized that up until this moment, I had expected to feel something … bad. Maybe, regret or hurt. Somewhere deep inside, I even expected to wake up and he would be gone. I could be angry, swear off men like Draco, and get on with my life. But the only thing I could feel as I pressed my lips to the scar on his chest was intense satisfaction and a sense of rightness. Like, if I woke up every morning, just like this, it would be just fine. That type of thinking could be dangerous.

The tiny white hairs on his arm seemed to glow in the sunlight. I lightly stroked his arm from elbow to shoulder. The hairs stood at attention and little bubbles of goose flesh appeared on his alabaster skin. I knew the exact moment he woke up because there was a tension in his body that had not been there before.

He spoke without opening his eyes. His voice was deeper than normal and thick with sleep.

"You just can't get enough," he drawled. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were trying to kill me."

"Please," I said. "Besides, that isn't possible. I've never heard of anyone dying of ecstasy before."

He smiled lazily.

"There's a first time for everything. And just because you don't know it doesn't mean that it hasn't happened, that's terribly presumptuous of you." He finally opened his eyes.

"Are you always this quarrelsome in the mornings?" I asked, only half serious.

He watched me for a few moments as though rolling the thought around in his mind. "You'll just have to find out, won't you?"

"In your dreams, Malfoy."

"Gorgeous and cheeky. Precisely the way I like my witches," he said. "Why did I never notice this before?" His comment made my face warm with embarrassment. I'd been called bright or smart before, but never gorgeous and certainly never by Draco.

I didn't know how to respond so I kept my mouth shut.

"Who's preparing breakfast?" he asked.

I nearly snorted in reply. "Not me."

"Now that you mention it," he said in a tone that could only promise bad news, "I have never tasted a meal prepared by your hands."

"There's a reason for that, you know. I prefer not to burden people with things I cook," I replied. It was widely known that my cooking left much to be desired. Along with Divination, it was one of the abilities I was never born with and it didn't bother me one bit. George joked that if I ever married off, we'd starve to death if the man couldn't cook. Ron had been appalled.

"Oh, please. Do not presume to tell me that _you_ are terrible at something. Perish the thought," Draco said. He widened his eyes in mock outrage.

"I don't believe I appreciate the sarcasm," I snipped. He chuckled and I could feel the action rumble through his chest. I couldn't hide the tiniest of smiles and settled a bit more against his body.

"I'm sorry. But, you're still in charge of breakfast. I like my toast dark and eggs scrambled, thanks."

I just looked at him.

"You underestimate my powers of persuasion, Granger."

I looked up and tried not to react to the handsome smirk on his face. "And what powers would those be? Pestering?"

"Nothing quite so innocent," he said.

Draco snaked one arm around my waist, drawing me into the heated space between our bodies. He smiled and gave me a devilish look that only a man could give who had nothing but lustful intentions up his sleeve—or down his trousers.

Pressed this tightly against him, I knew just what he planned to "persuade" me with. It wouldn't be very difficult. I pretended to discourage his kisses until he finally captured my mouth in a sweet kiss.

"I could get used to this," Draco said.

"Get used to what?"

He paused, "Used to waking up with you in my arms."

My heart began to beat a little faster. That had been my own thought less than an hour ago. My voice was surprisingly steady. "That was a very nice thing to say."

"I meant it," he replied and swept one hand through his already sleep-tousled hair. "What about you?

I said nothing.

"Hermione, just curious, what is it that you like about me?"

The question stunned me. It was so personal and almost insecure, but we were lying naked in each others arms. It was hard to be more personal than that.

Oddly though, this question had been the foundation of my attraction to Draco. For the past few weeks I'd been trying to answer it for myself. It was so many things and nothing specific at the same time.

"Are you fishing for compliments?" I joked.

"No."

Okay, then. Either he didn't get it or he ignored it. I drew in a small breath and answered slowly.

"Well, you're quite handsome since you've grown out of your pointy-ness," I said quietly. I looked up hoping to draw at least a twitch of the lips from him.

He said, "Is that all?"

Sweet Godric, he wasn't going to let this one go was he?

I was growing uncomfortable now. People just don't ask those types of questions. Besides, how could I tell him that I thought he was smart, and witty, incredibly sexy, and everything that I thought a man should be without sounding like a besotted school girl? My face blazed just thinking it.

Instead, I said, "What kind of question is that?"

"Forget it," he snapped.

I sighed. This was certainly not turning out the way I wanted. I could feel against my belly that he was no longer in the mood and he was pouting, again. Damn.

My face was burning before I'd even opened my mouth. "You are … brilliant, and funny, and moody, but that's good. You are the exact opposite of me and it's bloody fascinating. And—and you _are _quite handsome. There, are you happy now?"

I hadn't the pluck to look him in the face after a confession like that, so I stared at his chest. Still, when he spoke I knew he was smiling. I could hear it in his voice.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

"Easy for you to say," I grumbled. "What if I asked you the same thing?"

He slid his hand from my waist to cup my bum. Despite my annoyance, my body responded to his touch. He ducked his head and kissed that place between my neck and shoulder, lightly grazing me with his teeth.

"I'd say I love the scent of your hair." He took a deep breath to punctuate his words. I shivered as he released it in a rush over my skin. "I love the way you feel." A squeeze. "So soft."

I boldly wrapped a hand around his waist and grabbed the meaty part of his buttocks.

"You've got some soft bits yourself," I said.

He chuckled and caused his erection to shift and press suggestively into my lower belly.

"Soft bits, eh?"

I laughed. "So is that it?"

He shook his head. "No."

Then quickly, before I could further inquire, he was above me in one fluid movement. He settled himself between my legs. Slowly, he began to trace the head of his erection along my inner thigh and tickle it through the sensitive area between my legs.

"If I did die like this, Granger, I'd have died a happy man," he said. I laughed and slapped his shoulder playfully.

He ducked his head to kiss my face. I wrapped my arms around his back, reveling the feel of his weight against me, from my breast crushed against his chest all the way down to the way our legs entwined. The skin beneath my hands at his back was unsurprisingly smooth. I could feel his muscles shift and undulate below the skin as he moved against me.

He was panting in my ear and his erection had slipped between my slick folds. He hovered at my entrance. Just when I was about to remind him of the contraceptive spell again, I heard a very loud knock on my front door.

Draco heard it too because he said, "Ignore them, they'll go away."

"What if it's important?"

With a heavy sigh, he rolled away and turned his body to face me. It took a lot more will power than I would have liked to admit to leave Draco naked and randy in my bed.

"I'll be right back," I said.

I got out of bed, very aware of Draco watching my naked body.

I heard a quiet chuckle behind me. I turned around and found Draco watching me with an arrogant smirk on his face. _He_ certainly had no qualms about nudity. He was on his side, propped on one elbow and still nude, the sheet partially covering his lap. His grin flowed from playful to lascivious in mere seconds.

"What?" I asked, ignoring the bout of self-consciousness hovering at the edge of awareness.

"You," he said.

"Is that so? Well—"

"Actually, your hair. You look so … never mind." He waved his hand.

But I knew. Usually, I braid my hair at night as to avoid the nest that I knew it was this morning. Add that on top of last night's activities and—well, yeah. Not a morning sprite, but he didn't have to point it out. Men could be so insensitive. I let myself get angry, better than being hurt. And I didn't try to hide it.

"Whatever, Malfoy," I said and turned to leave, but as quick as a flash, he reached out and caught my arm. The sheet had fallen away and he was on all fours in the bed. I tried to ignore it.

"Oi, now what's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, "I need to get the door."

He didn't look like he believed me, but he let go of my arm. I must have rolled my eyes, or done something because he went from kneeling on the bed to blocking my path in less than three strides. He was still nude, but that didn't give me pause as much as the expression on his face. He was puzzling over me again. It gave me that feeling of deep scrutiny and I shifted under his gaze.

"I did something?" He made it a question. I just looked at him.

"I was only teasing. I'm sorry." He said softly.

"Forget it, Malfoy." I moved to step around him but he moved with me to block my path.

"I swear to you, I meant nothing by it. I—" And he cut off, an uncharacteristic blush tinged his pale face.

Until now, I'd never know grown men blushing could be a turn-on. Maybe it was just Draco blushing, whatever the case, I now had to struggle to hold on to my anger.

He finally seemed to gather the right words. "I was only being boastful that you look thoroughly shagged, and I did it to you."

Now it was my turn to blush. So much for anger. "Draco, forget it, really."

He studied me some more, then briefly brushed his lips against mine. I silently cringed as my pulse sped from that brief contact. It was much too soon for me to feel this strongly. "Are we good, then?" he asked.

"We're good."

He stepped aside, finally letting me pass. Just as I made it out the door, he swatted me on the bum.

"Be quick about it then, I need breakfast and it's your turn to cook."

"I'm not cooking," I said as I went to answer the door.

***

I opened the door only to find no one there.

I suddenly had a strange feeling that I should draw my wand, but I'd left it on the bedside table. Percy's warning ran through my mind. I should never forget my wand in times like these when there was a killer walking free, even in my own home. It could be a loony admirer, a killer or nothing at all. But I shouldn't take chances.

Cautiously, I stepped outside. I had no idea what time it was, but it was already very warm outside. And humid. Birds were singing in the trees on my property, but still that uneasy feeling persisted. I looked around. Up and down the street. I saw no one except an old couple out for a morning walk. I was on my way back inside when my foot touched something. A box.

I jumped, because I would have sworn that it wasn't there just a moment ago. I lived really close to Muggles, so I know no one would risk magic in this area in public. The Ministry would be on it in no time. So, it had to have been there, didn't it? I just hadn't seen it.

The box was the size of a shoebox. It was wrapped in bright red paper and tied with a big purple bow, and attached was a card. Without deciding it if were a good idea or not, I picked it up and took it inside. They say curiosity killed the cat, I hope I didn't make the same mistake.

"I got a package," I called.

I went to the sofa and set the box on the table in front of me. I stared for a moment before curiosity finally won. I carefully detached the card from the package and read it. 'ENJOY.'

That was all.

Just then, Draco entered the room and sat next to me. He had slipped into his trousers from last night but nothing else. "Who left you a gift?" he asked.

I snorted and passed the card to him. He made a noise just as dignified and tossed it on the table. I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

"What is it?" he asked, peering over my shoulder to see into the box.

"It's a … flower?" I made it a question. "Why would someone send just one flower?"

"Maybe it's all they could afford. Maybe it's from Weasley." Draco leaned back and yawned.

I shot him an annoyed look but he wasn't paying attention.

"I suppose I should be upset now," he went on. "Some bloke sending you flowers."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. It's just one flower."

A very pretty flower too. People; admirers, reporters had sent me flowers before, but it was always something very common like, roses. Regardless of the color, I did not like roses. This flower was not common. It was that odd color between blue and purple. Each of its five petals had a slash of bright red in the middle like rouged lips. The pistils were long and sun-shiny yellow. I hadn't studied Herbology thoroughly since Hogwarts, but there was something nagging me about this flower.

Draco picked up the note again. He was staring at it when he said, "Maybe you should leave it alone until you at least know who sent it. Could be a Portkey or something—"

But it was too late. I was already holding it, and suddenly I remembered. It was a Firestar; a very illegal flower that secretes a poison from its petals that can spread like venom and eat through skin like acid.

At first it only felt like a little tingle, like holding onto a cup of good, hot tea. Then, I screamed.

I could feel the skin of my hands crackle and dissolve, exposing the flesh and muscle underneath.

I'd thought enduring the Cruciatus cursehad been the most painful ordeal of my existence. I had been way off. Next to this, it was a playful caress of the skin. I sucked in lung fulls of air to scream but all that came out was a choked gasp. The sensation of sizzling flesh made me forget everything except the blinding pain. My only clear thought had been a longing for swift death.

Distantly, I could hear Draco yelling. I couldn't be bothered to listen, but the fear in his voice finally cut through my pain.

"Hermione! Shit, Hermione, drop the flower," he cried. "Drop the damn thing!

Didn't he know that if I could, I would have already done it? Every muscle had coiled and cramped under the pain. It was like rubbing sandpaper on raw exposed skin. Gasping for air and in unbelievable agony, I could only clutch the flower closer.

He was still screaming a string of expletives when I stopped hearing him. There is a point when the brain can no longer comprehend the level of abuse the body is experiencing because by that point, the body should not be able to survive. All that was left was the thrumming sensation that comes after hitting a really big gong or drum. I realized that my eyes were open and though my vision was gray around the edges, I could see Draco. Funny, his mouth was moving but I didn't hear a thing. I read his lips, though—"_Accio!_"—he had yelled.

The thrumming stopped. I mustered just enough strength to turn my head. I coughed and retched until there was not enough air left to heave.

And then the world faded to black.

* * *

AN: O, good people of fandom, I am so sorry. Lots of things happened. Long story short, my computer crashed and I lost my beta. Starting now, this story is only proofread by me. Any mistakes are my own.


	10. Healing Magic

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; I write for fun and to learn.

**Chapter 10: Healing Magic**

*******

The hospital.

I knew _where _I was because the remnants of sterile agents and healing magic hung in the air, thick and tangible. I was slightly alarmed that I couldn't remember exactly _why _I'd woken up there in the first place, but I was mostly concerned with why my body felt as though it had been encased in fresh leather; tight, and not at all comfortable.

After a few attempts to move, I finally gave up and decided to open my eyes, and promptly squeezed them shut again. The sunlight was so brilliant I could still see colorful spots dancing behind my eyelids.

"Sun … hurts," I whispered. The words sounded as though I'd tried to squeeze them out past sand paper.

"I think she's waking up," some else whispered. Ron, maybe?

"Close the shades," I said to the voice.

"She is! You heard her, close the damn shades!"

Definitely Ron.

The spots dimmed and I opened my eyes again, blinking several times to adjust. Seconds later, the frowning faces of my two best friends filled my line of vision.

"Hermione, how d'you feel?" asked Ron.

Harry peered closer, as though trying to find the answer to Ron's question.

"I feel like I've swallowed sand, I have a terrible headache and I can't feel my hands. Why can't I feel my hands?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. I hated when they did that. It usually meant they were keeping something from me that I needed to know.

"How long have I been out?"

"Six days," said Ron.

"Ron." Harry's voice held a warning, but Ron ignored him. I did too.

"_Six days?_" My voice cracked. Ron nodded.

I tried to sit up but, pain shot through my upper body and a dull throbbing from my head to my shoulders had begun. I fell back onto the bed, breathing heavily. I looked at Harry.

"Six days?" I asked, between breaths.

"Yeah, but most of it was the medication … Healers said it was best while you recovered."

"What happened?" Six days seemed like an awful long time to be sedated.

He pursed his lips. "Don't you remember?"

I thought about it. The last I remembered was arguing with Ron at the theater and then … later in bed, with Draco. I felt my face heat up and glanced at Harry. He was staring intently, as though he were reading the thoughts as they passed through my mind. But that was impossible; Harry had never gotten the hang of Occlumency, let alone Legilimency.

I quickly dismissed the idea that _sex _had landed me in critical care. But everything that happened after that, I couldn't remember. I kept getting images … but it was like trying to catch air: impossible.

I was so immersed in thought that I barely felt the throbbing that had now spread down the length of my arms and all the way to my fingertips. I kept picturing bright colors, soft petals…. Suddenly, I remembered—

"The flower," I said blurted, my words tripping over themselves in my haste to say them "S-someone sent me a flower. I-I picked it up … Draco told me not to, but I did."

Harry and Ron exchanged another look.

"That flower really burned you Hermione. As much as I hate to admit it, you were lucky Malfoy was there," Harry said. A little frown appeared beneath the fringe of his untidy hair. I could tell he was trying to decide if _now_ was the time to talk about Malfoy. I decided for him by taking the conversation in a different direction.

"What happened?" I whispered, though I had no desire to know the answer.

"Well, I can't say for sure about anything before we arrived on the scene. And it isn't an Auror classified case … so I don't know what they discovered. The flower itself was sent to Dark Artifacts … they're saying the flower has some sort of curse attached to enhance the poisonous effects."

"I'm surprised you didn't recognize the flower," Ron said.

I turned to him, ignoring the pain in my hands and arms. He was gazing at me with a different kind of intensity. He looked … guilty?

"I did," I said to him. "But it was too late, I had already picked it up — I couldn't drop it. My muscles just didn't work."

"The curse," Harry said, and I turned back to him. "The curse is unlike anything I've ever heard of. Even after Malfoy had summoned the flower away, you still burned. It burned away the skin, of your arms and your upper chest — "

I let out a gasp. From my propped position I looked down at my body. For the first time, I noticed I was completely bandaged from neck to waist, like some sort of movie-mummy. I wiggled my fingers and didn't feel anything except of a surge in the constant throbbing.

"Is—is anything permanently …." But I couldn't finish. I wasn't vain, so my looks were not the most important thing. It was the thought of losing my life, my livelihood that caused my eyes to sting with tears but, I would not cry. At least I was alive. I was grateful for that.

Ron reached out to touch my shoulder and I winced in pain. He looked unsure for a moment, like he couldn't decide where to touch me that wouldn't cause pain. Finally, he moved his hand up to stroke my hair.

Harry said, "It's all right, Hermione. The Healing Patrol Unit managed to break the curse. They managed to re-grow the skin. Said you're going to feel sort of raw for a while, but you'll be as good as new." He gave me a cheer-up-mate kind of smile.

"Speaking of flowers," said Ron, "A whole bunch of them came for you but Harry sent them all to the Ministry to be tested. Luna, Neville and Lavender Brown all sent you a pot."

"Lavender?"

"Yeah, we were a little surprised too — haven't heard from her in years."

Not really surprising information, but interesting. Makes sense, though. In her eyes we were an elite group of former Gryffindors who dated former Slytherins. I'd have to send her a 'thank you' card. The three of us fell into silence; Harry was staring pensively into space and Ron was now fussing with my pillows.

Something occurred to me. "My parents, did anyone notify my parents?"

Harry blinked and it was a couple of seconds before he answered.

"Yeah, we did," he said. "Soon as we could, Ron and I popped over to let them know. Made us promise to keep them updated. We told them you'd ring them or whatever as soon as you could.

Since my parents were Muggles, I thought it best not to send unannounced owls, and of course they didn't have a floo connection. The only way we could reach my parents was to literally 'pop' over by apparition. I nodded, grateful to them for remembering. The action caused thick, throbbing pain to pulse through my arms and chest and I fought not to cry out.

"This is horrible Harry, who could have done this? Why?" I asked.

Harry looked completely nonplussed, it was Ron that spoke.

"To be quite honest with you, I think it's connected to the Muggle-born killer. I mean, it fits. And the injuries are too similar to ignore, mate." He looked across my body to Harry. "If we could prove that the thing that killed those women is the same that did this to Hermione … well, we'd at least have something to go on."

Harry stared at me, but I don't think he was really seeing me. He finally looked up at Ron. "I think you might be right, but how do we do that?"

Ron shrugged, apparently all out of ideas.

"I suppose I can talk to someone in Dark Artifacts to see if they've found anything. If we can find out how this curse originated, then we could trace it back from there," said Harry.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, and I can run by Percy's office. Get permission to Auror-classify it so that we can have access to the medical and Law Enforcement reports."

"I thought Firestars were illegal, anyway," I said. "And they're so rare, they don't even grow anywhere around here. How would they have gotten one?"

Harry took out his parchment-pad and scribbled some notes. When he finished he read back over them, unconsciously rubbing the used-to-be scar on his forehead.

"I don't know," he said, still looking at the pad. "But I'm going to get to work on this right away. Ron we should go and let Hermione get some rest."

"Wait," I said, "Draco works in Dark Artifacts, why don't you just ask him? Where is he, anyway?"

I realized for the first time that he wasn't around. It was taking some getting used to being public with our relationship, though the only ones that mattered were in the room with me. Harry hadn't seen us together, but I was sure Ron couldn't keep something like this to himself.

Harry and Ron exchanged another look and I felt a jerk in my body that had nothing to do with the injuries and more to do with fear.

"Is he all right? Was he hurt?" I asked them. I held still, afraid that if I moved too much I'd miss the answer.

Ron stopped the stroking of my hair and turned away, busying himself by pouring a cup of water. He drank deeply and I turned back to Harry.

"He's — er, just fine," he said. "He did get some burns when he summoned the flower, but he was holding a shirt … or something." He smiled. "His were rug-burns compared to yours."

The fear released me and quickly turned to curiosity. "Well, where is he then?"

Ron snorted into his cup that he'd refilled twice by now.

"Ron that isn't fair, Draco hit you because he thought you were hurting me …" I said. He whirled around, about to tear into me but I stopped him. "I know, I know: you were only trying to help, but I didn't _need _your help. I —"

But I was cut off by a ragged gasp that escaped me. My chest hurt, the leathery tightness of my skin restricted my breathing.

"Ron, save this conversation for another time, you know you shouldn't upset her." Harry fussed over me, readjusting my pillows. "Hermione?" he asked.

But I couldn't answer. The pain shooting up and down my arms and chest was worsening, and now reaching a blaring crescendo that I could barely breathe around.

"Oi, Ron, I think something's wrong — call a Healer, call a Healer!"

Ron disappeared and reappeared in record time, Healer in tow. I was gasping for breath and I could feel sweat gathering on my forehead. The Healer, man or woman, I couldn't be bothered to tell, quickly injected my arm with something. The pain relented almost instantly. I wasn't prepared for the wave of drowsiness that swept over me. One moment I was seeing Harry and Ron's worried faces peering over the shoulder of the Healer. The next, everything was dark, silent, peaceful.

***

Hours later, I don't know how many, I woke as though swimming up from the depths of a deep lake. I broke the surface gasping and I opened my eyes to find a stranger's face inches from my nose.

"Ms. Granger," she said, peering into my face. I could see now that she was a medi-witch. "I think you were dreaming."

I found my voice. "I think so … it was awful." I knew this to be true, though the moment I woke the details of the dream melted as quickly as catching snowflakes on the tongue.

"I've given you a wash and redressed your injuries. I've applied a bit of salve to your skin and it should ease the pain temporarily." She rolled a table over to me and lowered it so that I could reach it comfortably. "I will come back after dinner and give you another sedative so you can sleep through the night."

"Is that really necessary?" I asked. I wasn't fond of being given too many sedatives. I felt fine now, though I knew the pain could come back without a moment's notice.

She smiled. "I'm afraid so. The good news is, your skin is growing back nicely. After tomorrow, you shouldn't even need to take anything for pain and the bandages will come off."

"Does that mean I get to go home?"

"Well, I'm not the Head Healer, but I think it's safe to say there's a good chance." She gave me one last smile and left me to my dinner. I realized that I could move my arms and hands without the shooting pain; only the tightness remained.

This brightened things considerably. I hardly noticed the dryness of the steak-and-kidney pie, and that was saying something.

I'd just taken my last bite when the door opened again. The same smiling medi-witch from before entered. Draco trailed behind her.

"This gentleman here says he's your 'friend'," she announced, and then lowered her voice so only I could hear. "And a right fit friend he is."

I couldn't help a smile. She was right.

Draco stood in the corner until the medi-witch finished administering the sedative. He waited until the air-hinged door finally snapped shut before he approached my bed. Draco was the vision of aristocratic masculinity. He wore gray trousers, a white dress shirt and a deep blue tie. He carried his robes over his left arm. I realized it was the first time I'd seen him in anything more than casual since the first night at the Magick Spot. He must have come straight from the Ministry to the hospital.

It wasn't until he'd sat in the chair at my bedside, one leg crossed at the ankle over one knee, that I saw him clearly. Dark circles flawed his face; only the fairness of his skin making them stand out. He looked angry.

"Hi," I said weakly.

"You look terrible."

"You really … know how to make a girl feel beautiful." I put as much sarcasm in it as I could muster.

His mouth thinned to a straight line. "I'm sorry. I just meant … sorry."

"S'okay. I know you didn't mean it."

He nodded but remained quiet. I could feel the sedative beginning to take effect, but I was fighting the sleep. I wanted to talk to Draco. More specifically I wanted to know why he was scowling at the bed sheets. The muscle in his jaw was jumping with the clenching and unclenching of his teeth.

"S'wrong with you?' I asked. His scowl deepened with the question, but he didn't answer. I blinked slowly. Everything was beginning to take on that dream-like feel, but I couldn't sleep. Not yet. "Draco, tell me."

His eyes snapped up to my face. "It's my fault. The whole goddamned —" He stopped, and fell silent once more, apparently preferring to gnash his teeth than to talk.

"I don't understand," I slurred, "what's your fault?"

"You."

"_I'm _your fault? How am I your … fault?"

"What's happened to you is my fault," he said quietly.

I smiled. It was an odd reaction considering what he was blaming himself for. Maybe it was the medicine. It always surprised me when Draco acted like anything but a complete arse. My smile widened at the last thought.

"What the hell are you smiling about?" he asked, now directing the angry look at me.

"You."

"Is that so?" he asked. He stood and began pacing back and forth at the foot of my bed; his shoulders were tight and bunched. "Well, I don't suppose you would have anything to smile about if you were me. If you'd failed the one and only time your job actually mattered. I've been on this job for two fucking years and the one time someone really needed me I stood around screaming like a — like an idiot."

I blinked slowly again in response.

When my eyes finally opened again, he was still frowning at me. I realized with fuzzy reasoning that he wasn't frowning at _me_, just in my direction. All of this anger was internal. That wouldn't do.

"Sit," I said. He obeyed. I meant to reach out to take his hand, but only managed to extend a few fingers. He understood anyway and gently grasped my hand. I could feel his warmth even through the thick bandages.

He stared at me, his eyes vacillating intensely between anger and some other emotion that looked foreign to his face.

"Draco — Draco s'not your fault. You couldn't have known. _I_ should have had more … more sense about it. S'not your fault."

His eyes softened, but only a fraction. "It doesn't matter, Hermione. It's my job to — "

"But you weren't working."

"What?" He leaned forward to hear. His breath smelled like lemons.

"You weren't … weren't on the job."

He seemed to think about it for a moment. He shook his head. "Still, as a detective, as your — your friend, I won't allow anything like this to happen again."

"Draco, you can't control what happens to…" I started, but he hushed me with a swift kiss to my lips.

"You sleep. I've got to head back over to the Ministry anyway."

I blinked slowly. When did Draco become so … duty bound, so protective? Maybe he had always been this way and I just didn't know it because I hadn't known him. My eyes did not open from the last blink.

I last heard Draco say, "I'm so sorry, love." I could have imagined it; still, it was sweet just the same.

*******

It was the middle of the night when I next opened my eyes. I could see through the slats in the shades, the great silver moon shining in the sky. As far as I could tell I was alone, and it was the middle of the night.

But something wasn't right.

While I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I noticed the absence of overwhelming pain. To test it, I wiggled a few fingers, and then lifted my whole arm and felt nothing, except the slight tightness to my skin.

I pull myself into a sitting position and peered into the darkness. My heart was beating wildly inside my chest and it was exceptionally loud in the stillness of night. Except for the relief of a few slivers of moonlight, the room was pitch-dark. I didn't have my wand, and I vaguely wondered where it was as I sensed movement in the corner.

I froze, unable to move or think. I could hear the hushed tones of the night shift healers in the corridor. The smart thing would have been to call for one of them.

My voice came out much weaker than I meant it to. "Who's there?"

"_Lumos_," a familiar voice said.

The wand light caught a flash of blazing ginger hair and then Ron's face came into view. I released a breath I had not even known I'd been holding, and relief was quickly replaced with anger.

"_Ronald Weasley_!" I said. "What do you think you're playing at lurking around my room in the dark like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he said. He shuffled over to the chair at my bedside and folded his long limbs into an awkward looking position. "How are you feeling" he asked quietly.

"Better. My skin is a little tight, but I'll be fine. I've read about re-growing skin before, actually. It's a long process."

I wiggled my hands again. Either the skin wasn't as stiff or I was adjusting to the feeling. I tried to relax, but my heart was still beating too quickly. Near death experiences can put you on edge like that. I'd had enough of them to know.

"What are you doing here, anyway. What time is it?" I asked.

"Three." He sat the lit wand on my bed, casting half of his face in darkness. One blue eye was trained on me. I could tell something was bothering him. Ron almost always had something sarcastic so say. He was being unusually quiet.

"Ron is everything all right?" I asked.

Maybe it was the odd hour, or the lingering potions, but something felt … off. Ron shifted in the seat, bringing more of his face into the light.

"I'm fine, Hermione," he said, "you worry way too much. I'm just tired… tonight was my night to … keep watch."

"Keep watch? For what?"

"Harry, Malfoy and I have been taking turns sitting with you during the night for the past three nights…"

Three nights?" I cried. "Three?" I could clearly recall everything that had happened when I'd last been awake. The visit from Draco couldn't have been more than several hours ago.

"B-but I remember, Draco was … just here," I said.

Neither of us spoke for several minutes. The upright position made my skin feel uncomfortably constricting. I wondered when I would be able to remove the bandages. I'd only seen the pinkish, shiny look of new skin in books. I was also ready to get out of bed. I wanted to find out what was going on with the case and there was no way I could do that stuck here, at St. Mungo's.

"Speaking of Malfoy," Ron said. He looked like he didn't want to speak his next words. "I just wanted to apologize for the way I acted the other night. I should be grateful that you and Malfoy …. I suppose if it hadn't been for Malfoy, you be — you'd be, you know."

I gaped at him. "Ron, you — you mean that?"

"Sure I do. If having you alive means having to put up with Malfoy then … it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make." He smiled weakly. A thick lump of emotion swelled in my throat.

"Thank you, Ron. That means … so much."

He shrugged, but didn't say anything. After such an adrenaline rush, I could feel the heaviness of sleep taking over. I don't know how many minutes passed before I was awakened again by the sound of Ron's voice.

"Hermione, I can't seem to understand one thing …"

"Hmm?" It was the best I could do.

"How did they manage to cross you wards?"

I was awake now, because I had no idea what he was talking about. I struggled to sit back up in the bed. "What are you talking about, Ron?"

"Well, your wards. You have them to alert you if someone approaches than means you harm, right?"

"Ron, you know I don't. I don't even own a sneak-o-scope." Saying it out loud made me feel slightly ashamed. In hindsight, it was very obvious that I should have had them.

"So," he said, "anyone can walk right into your house with a simple _Alohomora_?"

"Give me some credit, Ron. I use a complex locking charms, no one's broken in yet, have they?"

He held my gaze for a few moments then quickly looked away.

"Still, you need to be careful." He stood so quickly it startled me. "You need to get some sleep … the healers are going to release you tomorrow. You need to look as healthy as possible."

"Ron," I started, but he waived a hand to silence me.

"I think I'll get some food from downstairs. When you wake up in the morning, I'll be gone. Get some rest, Hermione."

Before I could argue, the wand was extinguished and Ron had gone.

* * *

AN: Yes, your eyes aren't playing tricks on you. Several months of nothing, and now two updates in as many days!! A huge thanks to Ceylon, Edward-Cullen-1, DaOnLeeSam, arius, tsukinotora, anonymousarfan, Brown-Eyed-Girl247, UnseenLibrarian, and margaritama for your amazing and very motivating reviews!

Also, a HUGE thank you (with chocolate sprinkles) to kamikaze-tryst for offering to beta read and doing an excellent job!

Chapter 11 coming really soon....


	11. Seventh Level

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. All original characters, plot, canon material belongs to the author. I write for fun and to learn.

**Chapter 11: Seventh Level**

*****  
**

"Sorry, I'm late."

I had been making a last minute check of the room to make sure I'd gathered all the random things Harry and Ron had been bringing in for me over the last few days. I'd found several pairs of questionable under things that even I had been ashamed to wear — they had been gifts from wishful boyfriends and girlfriends with a sense of humor. I'd stuffed them into the far reaches of my bureau. I was curious to find out just who had dug deep enough into my things to collect them. I was betting my money on Ron.

With that on my mind, it took me a few seconds for my brain to translate the vision in the doorway. I hadn't really seen Draco in days and until that moment, I had no idea how starved I'd been for his presence. I watched dazedly as he made his way across the room. He was in his Ministry robes, indicating that he'd come straight from work, again.

"Draco," I said, a little breathy. "What are you doing here?"

He gave a small smile and pulled me into his arms and against his chest. "And they say _you're _the brightest witch of our age …." he said. He held me tight and slowly stroked my back. "Glad you're all right, though," he whispered. For a few moments, I could do nothing but rest in his arms. So much had happened in the past few days that being held felt immensely comforting.

"You didn't really think I'd let you check yourself out of the hospital after an ordeal like that, did you?" There was a pause. "Apparently you did."

It was unexpected of him to take leave from work because of me. I would never have asked it of him; nor Ron or Harry for that matter, especially with an open case. But it felt good—better than that, bloody fantastic to have someone think of me again. I squeezed him a little tighter, nuzzling myself into his chest. He smelled of mild cologne and lemon drops today. Finally, I had to pull myself free, and it was effort because I could easily have stood there all day.

He let his hands trail down my arms to grasp my hands, his thumbs touching and testing the texture of my skin.

The uncovering of my injuries had been anti-climatic to say the least. What with all the sedation and pain and bandages, I'd prepared to be horribly disfigured — a mere shadow of my former self. Or at least have some battle wounds like Alastor Moody had done. Those Healers should be given a medal, though, because not a scar was left. If I hadn't endured it first hand I might not have believed it had happened.

Draco lowered my hands but didn't let go. "Back to normal I see," he said.

"Yeah, just regular old Hermione … just a touch paler."

"I happen to like regular old Hermione. A bit cheeky, but there's something to be said for a bit of cheek." He waggled his brows. "And what's this about being pale? Nothing wrong with that."

"Of course _you _would think so, you've been pale all your life."

He scowled and I laughed at him. I leaned in to give him a consoling peck on the lips. The moment our lips touched, it was as though our bodies had been waiting for it and I felt it all the way down to my toes. I would never tire of kissing him. I loved everything about it, the feel, the taste — especially the taste. There was always a trace of sweetness, as though he'd just been rolling Bertie Botts' Every-Flavour Beans on his tongue for hours.

We didn't stop until Draco released me with a moan. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, slightly embarrassed at having nearly been carried away … in a hospital room! He cleared his throat and turned to the bed, zipping the duffel as he spoke.

"Would have been here sooner, but it's chaos down at the Ministry. You know, about the arrest — and then _I_ got called in for questioning." His face turned bitter as he said the last part.

"What?" I asked, confused.

He repeated himself and added, "I know Potter is your best mate and all, but he's a right bastard, did you know that?"

"Hang on, an arrest?" This was news to me. "Who? Why didn't anyone think to mention this to me? And why were _you _held for questioning?" If the Aurors had made an arrest I needed to know first hand. I had every right to be a part of this. The Minister himself thought as much. I was also a little put out that neither Harry nor Ron had mentioned a lead — and Ron had been here just last night! I could worry about that later.

As if he'd read my very thoughts, Draco cast me a slanted look. "Wasn't Weasley on watch last night? You mean to say he didn't mention anything about it then?"

"No, Ron didn't tell me anything. Draco, what's going on?"

Draco sat down on the edge of the bed. The hard mattress barely dented under his weight. Now that the initial surprise of his presence had worn away, I could see that beneath his impeccably groomed exterior, he looked totally exhausted, even worse than last time. His stunning gray irises were surrounded by bloodshot white.

"They've brought in Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson," he began. "Turns out, the flowers that Brown sent you were completely normal, but they were sent from this place out in Frog Pond Village. It's the only place around here licensed for possession of a Firestar."

"So was it Lavender that sent me the Firestar or Pansy or …?"

"Well, we haven't exactly been able to prove it that it really came from that place. The Minister sent a team of Aurors and Dark Artifacts Investigators to go out there, and we were going to question the owner but he disappeared before we could get a hold of him. Checked the books for recent orders though, nothing matches up. It does turn out that the owner is a business partner of Peter Parkinson's, though. Even I didn't know that. Pete is small realtor from old money, what's he want with a florist?"

"I don't know. Maybe, the florist is a partner in the realty company?"

Draco snorted. "Not likely. Pete is a greedy man … Pansy told me once that his cousin fell on hard times — lost everything in a marriage that ended badly. He wouldn't even give the guy a hundred galleons to save his home."

"Sounds like a terrible man," I said.

Draco shrugged. "Anyway, from what I've been able to gather, Pete's on holiday and the Aurors found out Pansy's been recruited by Rightblood and … well now they've brought her in for questioning. Not technically an arrest, but just about."

He took a breath and looked at me.

I joined Draco on the edge of the bed, my knees unable to hold me any longer. Frog Pond Village I'd heard of before. It was a little town even further out than Hogsmeade. Why had Lavender gone there for flowers? It had to be a coincidence because it didn't make sense any other way.

And Pansy Parkinson? I didn't know much about her but, I would have never guessed she had enough wits to master a crime this huge … this _heinous_. She barely had the motive …. And what about Draco? "What has any of this got to do with you?"

He gave me a look that I didn't quite understand.

"Obvious, isn't it? As one of Pansy's mates … it's only logical."

"Oh, well then they must have questioned Zabini, Goyle and Greengrass right? They're all friends too."

He fumbled with the duffel, hesitating before he spoke again. "I've also been contacted by Rightblood and I reckon the Aurors have caught wind of it."

I whipped my head too fast and caught a crick in my neck. "Rightblood has been trying to recruit you too?" I asked, outraged. "And just when were you going to tell me _that_?"

Pieces of classic Draco suddenly returned. He drew himself up, lifted one brow and spoke. "Never, because it's totally irrelevant. Telling you something like that would only have upset you unnecessarily. I don't plan on trying out for anymore ridiculous blood supremacy gangs. I've had my share of them for one lifetime, thanks."

"The Aurors sure think it's relevant," I said. I tried to calm down. Getting angry would only help to prove his point. Tentatively, I touched his thigh. "Draco, I'm not saying you have to tell me every single detail about your life, but when something like that happens … tell me anyway. Let us decide together if it's important or not because it affects both of us."

Draco had grown up an only-child, like me. We'd had our whole lives to grow accustomed to answering to no one. Of course we'd been in relationships before, but I'd never dated another only child. I was betting he hadn't either. There is something about people with siblings that makes them more flexible, more willing to bend to the needs of others. That's not always true for only-children. I wasn't asking a small thing — sensible, but not small. If he wouldn't agree to it, then what would I do? Would we break up? If not this, then what _would_ be the deal-breaker between us … the thing that would drive us apart?

I swayed a bit, suddenly nauseous. I didn't want to lose him but I would not compromise my values either.

Slowly, he nodded and reached for my hand. I felt the gentle pressure of his lips to the back of it. "You know Hermione, you shouldn't worry so much. I would do many things for you if it made you happy, but nothing to deliberately hurt you. I told you that the night we went to the theatre, remember? Can you please trust me with that?"

"Do you trust me?" I asked.

His eyes went wide for a moment. His lips thinned into a straight line and that queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach returned. "Let's make a pact," he said.

I quirked an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I suppose I should not ask you to do something that I'd be unwilling to do myself. So, we will trust each other absolutely."

I gave him a slanted look. "You mean that?"

He sighed. "I know that it's _us_ and it seems terribly unlikely that this will work. But I don't give a damn. It's what I want, what feels right. I mean that."

I looked up into his striking, unearthly gray eyes and let wonderment fill my own. He always said the right thing. I kept waiting for something to happen, for something to go wrong and I could say, 'I knew it!' Nothing ever did. In that moment, I realized something that had been niggling at me for weeks now. Something I had probably always known was coming at one time or another.

I was falling in love with Draco Malfoy. Dear Godric, when had that happened?

It was much too soon for such strong feelings. We'd only just gone out on a proper date! But the past few weeks with him had been exciting, tentative, and perfect. I'd learned things about him that I'd never have dreamed. Draco was of course arrogant and spoiled, I'd known that going in. But there were things I hadn't known that I found incredibly endearing, like his charities and cooking. He was also very intellectual, protective, and passionate and that was just the beginning.

Admitting that I loved Draco made me a little giddy and scared, like escaping from Gringott's riding the back of a blind dragon kind of feeling. Oh dear. This was much too soon. Funny how none of that seemed to matter to my furiously beating heart ….

I pulled my hand out of his grasp, hoping Draco was oblivious to my silent revelation. I tried to keep a straight face.

"So, what about your job?" I asked.

He blinked at the sudden changed of topic. "What of it?"

"Well, you've been questioned by the Aurors in relation to a murder case, how are your superiors taking it?"

"Oh," he said, "Well I'm not being sacked if that's what you're getting at."

"Good."

"It is." I couldn't look at him. I knew he was watching me with that intense scrutiny that made me feel completely naked in ways that had nothing to do with my clothes.

Finally, I stood up, making to grab my duffel. "I need to drop by the Ministry to talk to Harry."

When Draco didn't say anything, I glanced in his direction to make sure he was still there. He looked at me as though I'd grown two other heads. He pursed his lips looking very much like a cross father. "Maybe you shouldn't go into work when you've only just been released from the hospital."

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm perfectly fine. I haven't a scratch on me. Besides, I can't very well allow you to skive off work on account of me."

He looked indignant. "I'm not _skiving_ off work. It's legitimate time off. I just thought it might be nice to spend some time together, but if you're not up for it…."

He was pouting again. Thinking quickly I said, "How about this … I pop down to the Ministry now, for just a quick chat with Harry. Then you and I can have the rest of the day … and night together?"

He just looked at me.

"And I won't do _any_ work, I promise."

It took several kisses and other womanly wiles, but he eventually agreed. I sent him home to rest because he needed it. Besides, it wasn't necessary to have him with me at the Ministry. Harry or Ron might not tell me the important details, if I had Draco in tow. Unfortunate, but true.

***

It felt as though I'd been away from the Ministry for months, rather than days. I went straight to my office to grab my access badge and some Ministry robes then dashed to the lifts.

As I approached, I recognized a familiar head of ginger hair.

"Percy — am I glad to see you, I can finally get some answers. What's going on here, why didn't anyone tell me?

Upon hearing my voice, he jumped as though not expecting to be found waiting outside of a perfectly visible lift. He looked just as haggled as Draco.

"Hermione? You're back?"

"Only just now."

He composed himself. "You look very well."

"I don't mean to be rude Percy, but you're dodging the question."

He looked around, and though no one was within earshot, he lowered his voice.

"Not here, Dad's been trying to corner me all day, dying to know what's going on, but it's top secret. Come with me. I'm headed down to the Questioning Chambers and Harry should be down there. I'll do my best to explain what I can along the way."

I nodded and the pair of us ducked inside the lift when it arrived. I started as soon as the large metal doors clanged shut.

"Percy … I heard about Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson. Have they confessed anything? Is it them?" Saying it out loud didn't make it any more believable.

"Of course not," Percy said. "They haven't confessed a thing. And technically, they haven't been arrested for anything so we can't use Legilimency or Veritaserum on them." He wrung his hands.

"Even worse," Percy continued, "once Peter Parkinson gets wind of this he's going to have a fit that we've detained his daughter. Only reason he hasn't done already is because he's on holiday."

"But Pansy's of age —"

"That isn't going to stop the Parkinson's. They'll go straight to the papers."

Since the Ministry was under a new administration, the Daily Prophet and other smaller papers weren't in the Ministry's pocket any longer.

I nodded. "This could be bad for the Ministry."

"We don't have enough proof to detain them for long, but we aren't exactly letting them go in a hurry either — "

With great screeching, and grinding of metal, the lift skidded to a halt. The sudden lurching had tossed us both to the ground. I got up first and Percy followed, staggering to his feet and holding the side of his head. The stack of parchment he'd been carrying was scattered on the floor.

"What the bloody hell was that?" he cried. A thin trickle of blood ran from his hairline down the side of his face. He ran to the doors, trying to wedge his fingers inside and push them apart. But there was no use.

"I don't know." I pushed the seventh level button once, twice, and again, as though on the third or fourth try, it might work.

"Stand back," he ordered. I did.

"_Bombarda!_" The heavy doors opened like a book.

With the doors blasted apart, I could see that we were stuck between levels. At the bottom, there was just enough space for a very small person to fit through.

"No," he said, probably thinking what I was thinking. "You stay in here and let me go. We don't know what's happened out there."

I wanted to argue that I was probably the better choice between the two of us to send out there. Percy was a great wizard, but not a fighter. I let it go; now was not the time to bruise his ego.

He dropped down, looking extremely awkward. In all the years I'd know him, I don't think I'd ever seen him on the floor for any reason. He tried first sticking his long legs through, then turned around and went shoulders first.

"Let me try," I said. He ignored me and tried his feet again. Finally he got up, adjusting his now dusty robes.

"Fine, but pull your wand …"

"I didn't just become a witch, Percy."

"Just be careful," he snapped.

I looked through the hole; we were several feet above the next level. Going out head first was out of the question. I lay on my stomach and backed out, feet first.

It was a disconcerting feeling. I was halfway out and my feet were still treading air. Percy held my arms to keep me from slipping.

"I'm going to have to jump," I said to him.

He shook his head. "Well then you just come back inside and we'll both wait for help."

"No, I think I can do it … it's not that far." I wiggled out just a little further and let go of Percy's hands.

"Hermione, no!" he cried. But I had already slipped out between the broken doors. The impact reverberated from my ankles all the way up my legs. The sharp, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, followed by a stinging sensation on the tip of my tongue.

"Hermione!" I heard Percy call from the lifts. "Hermione are you all right?"

I moved both ankles, the left one was numb which probably meant I'd sprained it, but at least it wasn't broken.

"Relax," I said with a slight lisp. "I'm fine, nothing's broken, see?" Slowly, I staggered to my feet and hissed when I put pressure on the left ankle.

"What's going on down there?" he asked.

I looked around, expecting to see officials scurrying about, but the corridor was empty. The wood flooring and inconspicuous wooden doors let me know we'd nearly made it to the Auror's floor.

"Nothing," I answered. "There's no one around. I'm going to see if I can find Ron or Harry…"

"Check the Questioning Chambers," Percy said.

The Questioning Chambers were restricted to authorized persons only. The story was that, before Fudge had restricted access to the area, someone had forgotten to reset the wards and a suspect had escaped. He didn't get very far, but there had been a lot of blaming and finger pointing. I, of course, had access.

I waved my wand over the door and it popped open with a small click. The main Chamber room was set up like the Department of Mysteries: A large circular room with nine numbered doors that opened up into smaller rooms. The rooms were divided into two sections. One side had a table and two chairs inside four additional walls. The walls had no doors or windows and it had anti-Apparition charms … Harry and Ron had refused to tell me how anyone got in or out. The other side was an open space with a thick column that rose about chest high to me. On top of the column was a huge crystal ball, only it wasn't exactly a crystal ball — more like a sphere shaped thing that was made of crystal. It was how the Aurors and Law Enforcement officers watched and recorded the interrogations.

I didn't know which one they'd be in, so I started with number one and worked my way around.

I was checking the third door when I heard it.

It had come from behind door number nine, a cacophony of shattering glass. I immediately drew my wand and crept toward the door. I had to go in, incase someone had been hurt. I also needed to be ready, incase something nefarious was on the other side of that door.

I realized the other rooms must be empty, because no one came running out to see what had happened. Unless the rooms were soundproof, which they probably were.

With my hand on the door knob and my ear pressed right up against the cool wood, I listened for any sound of movement; groaning, shuffling, voices — but it was dead silent. I could almost hear my heart hammering in my chest.

My wand was ready as I opened the door and it swung wide, offering an open view of the dark room.

No one attacked me.

I noticed the breaking glass I heard had been the sphere falling off the column. The floor glittered with the shattered pieces of the thick, heavy crystal. And it was covered with inky stuff with an almost metallic shimmer.

"Hello?" My voice came out muted, as if the walls absorbed my words. I pointed my wand at the mess.

"_Reparo_." Nothing happened. The broken pieces quivered, but remained broken. It apparently had the same enchantment Prophecies and Time-Turners had on them which prevented them from being repaired. I suddenly heard a noise behind me. I turned just in time to see the heavy door swing shut.

"No!" I cried. I grabbed for the handle but, these doors had no inner handle. I screamed and banged and screamed some more. I was stuck.

The only light in the room now came from the eerie phosphorus light of the stuff on the floor. I crouched low, searching for the wand I had dropped.

I felt around, carefully avoiding the sharp crystal, until my hand wrapped around the heel of my wand. I lit it and held it up to the smooth wooden door. What kind of place had doors with no handles anyway? I tried a series of taps, but if I didn't know the proper order, I'd be stuck here tapping forever.

Spells didn't work either.

I wasn't going anywhere because whoever spelled the door shut had made sure I couldn't get out the same way. I cursed the door. I had a whole volume of books on the subject of cracking codes and breaking locking charms that I hadn't even read yet. Fat load of good it was doing me now.

I went to the opposite wall, away from the broken crystal. Sighing, I slid down the wall until my bum touched the floor and I sat with my knees drawn up. If I waited patiently enough, someone would come. Percy knew that I'd come here. They would find him, and he would send them to me. I calmed down and waited.

And waited.

Now that the effect of adrenaline had drained away, I was suddenly tired. I could feel the tightness of my arms and hands. I needed to apply the salve that my Healer had given me. I didn't even want to think about how right Draco had been. I stretched my legs out and leaned my head against the wall.

I felt something give and the wall shifted. I fell backwards, hitting my head on the wooden floor.

Quickly, I scrambled to my feet. The wall flipped completely, shutting me out of the room. I touched the wall where I had fallen through, and it was smooth. I looked around; the walls were lined with sporadically lit sconces. I realized that I must have been in some sort of corridor that ran around the perimeter of the Chambers. Maybe it connected all of the rooms. My heart leapt. If I could find one of the first three rooms I checked, I could escape … I'd left the doors opened as I checked them.

I held my lit wand high so that I could see more space. The corridor curved in a rounded shape just like the main Chamber Room. I had just come from room nine, so the rooms I needed were all the way around the opposite end.

As I walked I noticed the walls were smooth, nothing to indicate that there were doors there. I walked quickly, the only thing keeping me from breaking out at a dead run was the throbbing in my left ankle. It was definitely sprained.

I was almost there, hobbling; I could see where the rounded corridor ended, when suddenly I tripped over a massive thing. I fell hard, scraping my hands and my wand clattered several feet away. I'd twisted my already injured ankle and there was a stinging in the tender skin of my hands.

I gingerly crawled over to my wand and turned see what I had tripped over. I held the wand light out in front of me. The blood felt like ice in my veins when I realized who it was.

It was Lavender Brown.

Her neck was bent so that her honey-colored eyes were glassy and lifeless in the light. Her golden hair was splayed around her as though she'd been staged. I only knew that she hadn't been because of the way her leg bent beneath her at an odd angle.

I held my wand close, her lips were blue and I could see thin cuts and red welts that crisscrossed around her neck, which would have eventually turned into thick angry bruises. If she weren't dead.

I scrambled back several feet, trying to put as much distance between me and the corpse – because that's what she was now – as possible.

Lavender Brown is dead. Lavender is dead. Those three words kept playing in my mind like a broken, morbid record.

A small sob escaped me. Someone had been in here and killed her. _Strangled _her — right in the Ministry of Magic. I couldn't think straight for all the questions firing off in my mind. How had they gotten in without being seen? Where the hell were all the Aurors? Where was everybody who worked on this level? Why? Was the killer still here, waiting for me on the other side of one of these doors?

I crouched in the dark corridor for I don't know how long. I couldn't decide if I should stay put or try to find a way out. Finally, I decided I couldn't wait for the killer to find me. I dragged myself to my feet, ignoring the pain in my ankle as I threw myself at the wall, searching for one of the hidden doors.

Suddenly the wall shifted again, and I fell through, landing on all fours. I scrambled to my feet and bolted out of the door and out of the Chambers.

***

I was running, as fast as my legs could take me. I ignored the jolts of pain each time my feet pounded the floor. I reached the lifts, gulping a lungful of air.

"Percy—"

"Hermione? Hermione what's happened?" I could see his stricken face peeking out from the small opening.

"Did … you see … any one come past here … a moment ago?" I wheezed.

"What? No, what's—"

But I was already running, full speed in the direction of the stairs. I had to find Harry or Ron, or anyone in this damned place.

The main level of the Ministry not only held the Minister's office, my department, and International Magical Cooperation, but the Atrium as well. The main level was also the first level.

The last time I climbed that many stairs had probably been at Hogwarts, and not all at once. I reached the landing and braced my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Finally I sucked in a huge breath and exited the stairwell.

Scarlet robes, navy robes, and every color in between dashed about the Atrium. This was where everyone had been. I noticed right away that it had been shut down. The Floo grates were dark and the Fountain of Magical Brethren was still.

Without the _whoosh_ of green flames and the sound of running water the Ministry Atrium seemed like the big Muggle warehouse that it was.

Most of the robes milled around something at the base of the fountain's statues. I spotted the tall fiery head of Ron among them. As I moved closer I squinted my eyes, trying to see through the cracks

"Excuse me," I said, shouldering my way through.

"Hey, get her out of here," said a deep voice I didn't recognize.

"Excuse me, move," I said again. I'd finally made my way to the front and the sharp metallic smell of blood hit my nostrils.

"Hermione, get out of here," I heard Ron say. But I couldn't move because my feet were rooted to the spot. My hand flew to cover my mouth. I would not scream. Don't _scream_.

I had never seen anything like it. Worse than Adrienne Wright's body because it was fresh. This person was nothing more than a bloody mass of meat, bone, and muscle. She, I knew it was a she, hung from the edge the fountain.

And there was so much blood, the pool at the base of the fountain looked like a bloody pond. God, how long had she burned?

"Get Jordan down here, tell him to secure the area," I heard Ron shout. Suddenly his big strong hands seized me by the shoulder. It was as if his touch released me, freed me from the gruesome sight. I felt nauseous and I turned, and dropped to my knees. I heaved and retched all over the shiny Atrium floor.

"Make sure no one else comes through! Hermione? Hermione, can you hear me?"

I swayed. The last thing I heard before darkness overcame me was the faint, sound of Ron's voice.

* * *

AN: UnseenLibrarian, DaOnLeeSam, MistressBlackSnape, Dramione-Fan17, tsukinotora...thank you all for your reviews for chapter 10!! kamikaze-tryst thank you for your review AND your awesome beta skills.


	12. Confessions

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. I write for fun and to learn. :-)

**Chapter 12: Confessions**

*******

"You're beginning to make a habit of this, Granger."

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Ron.

I peeled my eyes open. I felt like I'd been run over by the Hogwarts Express. My ankle was sore, though not as painful as it should have been. My hands had been re-bandaged and there was an awful taste in my mouth. In other words, I felt like a pile of dragon dung.

"Don't fight, please," I said to Ron and Draco, who were both watching over me as though I might break.

I was on a rather large and comfortable couch in Harry's office. I knew it was Harry's office because of the many pictures of Ginny and Lily that graced each flat surface. Ron was perched on the edge of Harry's desk, while Draco was on the arm of the couch, just above my head.

The way they hovered only made me want to get up more quickly. It's a shame but I've learned something during the time I've had Ron and Harry as my best mates. The moment I show a spot of weakness, they start treating me like a helpless damsel. To be equal to the boys, I've had to be tougher.

I sat up and touched my feet to the floor, hissing at the tenderness of my ankle.

"Sprained your ankle pretty bad, it seems," said Ron. "Not to mention, you nearly bit your tongue in half. Kingsley had his personal medi-witch have a look at you," he added. "Figured you wouldn't want to go back to St. Mungo's after you've only just got out."

I nodded my approval. That explained the mild soreness.

"Lavender," I gasped, suddenly remembering _how_ I'd twisted my ankle so badly.

"We found her," said Ron solemnly.

"Who-who killed her?"

"Don't know, but we found Parkinson too …"

I glanced at Draco and then back to Ron. "Do you think it was her? I don't know what to believe now."

"Can't say for sure; she was unconscious when we found her. Harry's gone to see about a warrant for her arrest the moment she wakes up. I'm positive it was Parkinson."

"I don't think Pansy's responsible," Draco said.

Ron barely looked in his direction. "Yeah, well, good thing I didn't ask you then, isn't it?" he asked.

"How many unconscious people do you know that's committed a murder, Weasley?" Draco calmly asked.

"Piss off."

"Ronald, please," I said.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione," Draco said. "I'm accustomed to Weasley's dim-wittedness."

"Draco, don't you start too," I said.

"Yeah, I'll show you —" Ron said at the same time.

"What're you going to show me, Weasley? Going to show your face to my fist again?"

"So," I said to change the subject. "The woman in the Atrium — have you been able to identify her?"

Draco and Ron stopped their bickering immediately. They shared a look that I'd only ever seen Ron share with Harry. This was bad.

"Who was she?" I whispered, not really wanting to know.

Ron dropped his head. When he looked up again, there was sadness in his eyes. No, I didn't want to know.

"Penelope," he said, quietly.

I gasped. My hand flew to cover my mouth and I felt Draco's arms tighten on my shoulders.

"Penny? Does Percy know?"

"Yeah, some git from Law Enforcement told him. He shouldn't have had to find out like that."

"That's awful! How is he?"

Ron shook his head, his brows furrowed together beneath his hair. "Not good. He's at the Burrow, Mum's given him a calming draught. He hasn't said two words since.

Poor Percy … and Penny. I swallowed a lump of emotion, only to have it rise again immediately. There was no fighting it this time. I could feel the hot tears well in my eyes and spill onto my cheeks.

It was one thing to watch this happening as an outsider. I could feel sorry for the family, and sadness for their loss. But what happens when you _are_ the family? When it's _your_ loss?

I remembered how grief-stricken Percy had been when Fred had died. He dealt with the loss worse than any of us, aside from Molly and George. We would really have to rally around to see him through this. And what about their son? He was barely a year old and now Percy was a single father.

Silence settled over the three of us. I huddled myself closer to Draco and just as I was about to ask how she'd gotten in the Atrium, the door opened and Harry walked in.

I realized it was the first time I'd seen Harry in nearly a week. He looked even worse than Draco. His normally mildly-disheveled hair looked positively atrocious. He had a shadow of stubble on his chin and his green eyes were dull.

"Hermione," he said coming straight to me. He gave me a quick hug and perched on the empty cushion next to me. "You're awake. How're you feeling?"

"Better."

"Good." He tossed a folder on the small table in front of the couch. "Got the warrant for Parkinson. _Priori Incantatum_ on her wand reveals no killing curses or dark magic of any kind has been performed though. And, we found this."

He held up a small gold pin and passed it around for all of us to examine. It was engraved on the front with two red letters, RB, and on the back it read, 'Pure Blood is Right Blood".

"Well, this proves someone from Rightblood is behind this," I said.

Harry nodded. "One of the Aurors found it clenched in Lavender's hand. There was a scrap of robes left in it, but that doesn't really help us—it didn't contain any hairs, so we can't use Polyjuice to figure out who it was."

Ron looked completely nonplussed and white as a sheet. "How is this possible?" he mumbled.

"You know we need hairs or something to — "

"What? No, I mean how's it possible that Parkinson's wand is clean?"

"It's possible, Weasley, because she's innocent. I've told you," Draco drawled.

"I know you have. Come to think of it, how are you so _sure_ about that, Malfoy?"

Harry watched the two of them go back and forth before he rubbed his eyes under his frames. "Ron, please. We've already questioned him and he's taken Veritaserum — drop it."

I turned on Harry. "You gave him Veritaserum? But he wasn't even under arrest — that was illegal! Aurors are not to administer Veritaserum in an interrogation unless the--"

"I volunteered," Draco said, crossing ankle over his knee. "Look, if this lot wants to start barking up the same old tree instead of _actually_ working on the case, so be it. I've got nothing to hide."

"I've already explained this to you Malfoy," Harry said tiredly. "We had to be sure."

"And I've already told you, Potter. I would never hurt her."

"It's not as though Veritaserum is infallible," Ron offered. I glared at him and he had the decency to look abashed. "What? I'm only making sure we consider every possible avenue."

I'll bet.

"Harry," I said as calmly as I could, "I won't begin to try to understand why you think my relationship with Draco has anything to do with this case, but might I suggest you—the both of you …" I looked at Ron. "…get over it. Forget about Draco, and me and let's focus on the case before another person gets killed. Or is my personal life more important?"

Harry looked like he wanted to have a go at me, but he thought better of it and picked up the files and the pin from the table. He pulled out a piece of parchment with the photograph of Lavender's body attached to the top right corner.

He glanced over at Draco. "Technically, we shouldn't even be discussing the case in front of Malfoy," he said without any emotion.

I didn't respond. Although I didn't like it, Harry was right. Draco was not an Auror and his help was limited to his expertise with dark artifacts, which Harry could acquire through Draco's supervisors. Draco sighed and I felt his arm begin to slide from around my shoulders.

"But," said Harry through clenched teeth, "In addition to being a ranking officer in the Ministry, Malfoy has proved himself loyal to Hermione. I suppose if you've earned Hermione's trust, you've earned mine."

"He hasn't earned mine," Ron said, indignantly.

"Thankfully, we don't need your consent — " Draco started. I squeezed his thigh and he cut his comment short.

Ron scowled but didn't say anything else.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "We've got two new murders and a Rightblood pin. One murder fits our victim profile." He set Penelope's file aside. I noticed he tried not to look at it as much as possible. I never considered how all of this might be affecting Harry. How hard it must be to have to solve the murder of your sister-in-law. He was now only holding Lavender's. "Our other victim, does not. She was pureblood and un-wed. And to top it off, we've got another pureblood witch lying unconscious in St. Mungo's."

"Maybe the killer is trying to throw us off," said Ron.

"I was thinking that too," Harry said. "Lavender's murder was nothing like the others'."

I nodded. "Lavender seemed more like an act of convenience, rather than hate. I mean, it was quick and hidden. The others have been quite public and utterly gruesome. Lavender was strangled."

Ron brushed his fringe from his eyes. "What d'you think could have been so convenient about Lavender's death, then?"

I didn't know. Killing Lavender seemed completely pointless. In her death, we were no closer to having solved this crime than when she had been alive. Maybe we were looking at it from the wrong angle, like trying to see all the colors of the rainbow through a prism. Unless the light strikes it just right, all you can see is plain white light. Perhaps she'd stumbled across the killer. Was it Pansy?

Draco had been quiet for a long time. If it hadn't been for the solid line of his body against the left side of mine, I'd have forgotten he was there. So, when he offered a suggestion, I started slightly. He squeezed my shoulder before swinging his arm over my head and leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped together.

"What if it was to shut her up?" he asked.

The three of us looked to him, waiting for him to continue. He did.

"Think about it: the flowers Brown sent to Hermione's hospital room conveniently led us to the florist, and frankly, proven or not, the likelihood of the Firestar coming from there is high."

"What are you saying Malfoy?" Ron asked.

"I'm saying, what if Brown knew who the killer is and tried to send a clue. Problem is, the killer found out before we could realize it and attacked her to keep her quiet."

"The list! Harry where's that list you showed me a few weeks ago?" I asked, suddenly. What Draco said made sense.

He shuffled through a few pieces of parchment before pulling out the one I requested. He spread it on the table so that all four of us could see it properly. Since I'd seen it, he'd crossed out a few more names.

"Let's say the killer is someone Lavender knew personally…"

"Why ?" asked Draco.

Harry answered, "Because why else would she try and send clues instead of coming right out and saying who it is? The likelihood of Lavender finding something like this out about a stranger is pretty low, Malfoy."

"Right," I said. "So, Lavender knew the killer from work, or a social group or…"

"Rightblood," Draco said. "I mean, if they tried to get me to join and they succeeded in getting Pansy, then it's possible they got to Brown too."

"How many people on that list fit into that category?" I asked Harry.

He silently counted, marking off names with his wand as he went. "Three. Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Daphne Greengrass. But I hear Bulstrode has just gotten engaged to a half-blood, so we can rule her out."

"That leaves Pansy and Daphne," I said out loud, but to myself.

"What a surprise," Ron said dryly.

"Honestly, neither of them seem to have the guile to pull it off."

"And they've got alibis — we've checked," Ron said.

Harry nodded his head while staring off in thought. "Ron's right; I guess the only thing to do now is watch them. Someone is doing this and the likely suspects are these two women. They have to make a mistake soon. Ron, take this down to Jordan, have him put a trace on it, will you? Pansy's dad should come looking for it soon enough." He passed Pansy's wand.

"What are you going to do about the Prophet? You know someone in the Atrium is going to say something. It'll be all over the papers by morning."

"I'll have to ask Shacklebolt what he wants us to do about that. Just take care of that wand."

Ron nodded. "I'll go now." He paused to glare at Malfoy and smile at me. "Be careful, Hermione."

I smiled back. "Thanks, Ron."

"He's got a point," Harry said, as the door closed. "I don't really like the idea of you going back to your house right now. If they tried once, I'm almost certain they'll try again."

"Harry…" I started.

"Potter's right," Draco said. "You should stay at my place until we — they've caught this person."

"Yeah, you could stay with me and Ginny and … wait, what?"

I was already shaking my head. "No. I can't put you and Ginny out, or put Lily in danger. Just because I'm not at my house doesn't mean they won't try."

Harry had nothing to say to that. Draco did.

"It's settled, then. You can stay with me. It's a much better idea anyway."

Harry pushed his glasses up and frowned at Draco. "Oh yeah? How's that?"

Draco put his arm back around my shoulders with a possessiveness I'd never seen. "It just is."

I rolled my eyes. "While I appreciate this chivalrous display of manliness, I _can_ take care of myself."

"I know you can Hermione, but can you please do this? I'd just… It'd give me peace of mind."

I didn't want to and I shouldn't have to. But, I knew Harry. He would worry himself gray.

"Fine, fine. But I'll stay with Draco. I won't risk Ginny or Lily's safety."

Draco stood and helped me up. My ankle was still sore, but I could walk. I had to.

"Take care of her, Malfoy," Harry said.

I made it to the door and turned to face Harry. "I can take care of myself."

Harry smiled, and it brought some light back to his eyes. "Of course you can."

***

Draco had to carry me up the stairs in his home.

He had helped me pack at least a fortnight's worth of belongings and personals. We used the Floo connection in his study and discovered that my ankle was much too sore to support my weight up a flight of stairs.

"I can do it," I said.

"Goyle could run a mile in the time it'd take you to climb the stairs," he replied. "Stop being so bloody difficult."

"I'm not being difficult." I took a tiny step and winced. "I just don't want you to think I can't do things for myself."

Draco rolled his eyes, cast the spell to send my bags zooming up the stairs, and scooped me up in his arms.

I let out an embarrassing squeal of surprise and clutched the collar of his oxford shirt.

"Draco, put me down!" I hollered at him. He ignored me and climbed the stairs with impressive ease. He set me down gingerly and let me hobble into his bedroom. I was breathless and flushed. I hated to admit it but, knowing he was strong and athletic enough to carry me up a flight of stairs and not be winded was a turn-on. I didn't tell him that, though.

Instead, I swallowed and said, "That display of masculinity was totally unnecessary."

Draco laughed, and it was an appreciative sound. Not an open-mouthed guffaw like Ron's, but just as real. "You're welcome, Granger."

The first tour I'd gotten of his home hadn't included his bedroom. That, or I'd not paid attention, but that wasn't likely because I would have noticed such a beautiful room. Like everything else Draco owned, his room exuded expensive, classic taste. The room was made of rich leather, deep wood and masculine colors right down to the thick, tan carpeting. On the far side of his room was a set of French doors that faced the wide-open quad at the back of his home. I suppose I'd been expecting serpent heads and loads of black and Slytherin green. For once, I was glad that I was wrong.

I let Draco use the shower first. I wanted to arrange my things and put away my unmentionables in private. I think he'd known this and took an extra long shower out of courtesy.

I was just gathering my toiletries when the bathroom door opened. He'd come out in loose fitting, white sleep trousers — he wore nothing underneath — and no shirt. His hair was still damp and finger-raked straight back.

"It's all yours," he said, moving about unaware of the way my eyes followed his every move. I tried not to stare at the way the thin cotton clung to his backside, or the noticeable outline of him in front, but there was no use … he had made an innocent pair of pyjama-bottoms look so _deliciously_ wicked.

I still hadn't moved when he begun to turn down the bed. It wasn't until he climbed in and propped his arms behind his head that he looked up at me. "What? Do you need help or something?"

I blinked and clutched my possessions to my chest. "N-no… I'm just… tired. It's been a long day."

He grinned and I felt my knees wobble slightly. It should be illegal to look so shaggable.

"Well don't be too tired, you've still got a promise to fulfill," he said.

"What promise is that?"

"That if I let you go to the Ministry… you'd do dirty things to me later."

I willed my face not to flush.

"You didn't _let_ me do anything." I limped to the bathroom entrance and paused at the door. "And as for the last part—just don't fall asleep yet." Draco laughed as I shut the door behind me.

The bathroom was made of elegant tile and soft, contoured fixtures. The only modern addition was a built-in shower on the other side of a short wall adjacent to the tub. The claw-foot tub was filled with sweet-smelling, steamy water. I had planned to take a quick shower, but my aching body longed for the bath.

***

I soaked until every knot and sore spot vanished. By the time I came out, Draco was fast asleep.

He had opened the French doors, and a wide shaft of bright moonlight spilled into the room, carrying warm, Spring air with it. With a wide yawn, I crawled into the soft, satin sheets, curled my body alongside Draco's and fell into a fitful sleep.

I dreamed of fiery bouquets and dark corridors littered with the mutilated bodies of my friends.

I dreamed that I found Draco, his once smooth alabaster skin burned away. All that was left was a pair of unblinking, glassy gray eyes.

I woke crying and sweating despite the breeze rolling in off the tops of the trees. I sat up in the unfamiliar bed and looked around. The moon had shifted in the past few hours and the light fell across a still sleeping Draco. I relaxed only a little. He lay on his stomach, his arms gathered above his head and beneath his pillow. The pale comforter that looked much lighter in the moonlight, was pushed aside, and I allowed my eyes to fully appreciate his beauty.

A brief image of him from my dream flashed across my mind's eye.

I couldn't take it if he died. I actually couldn't take it if _any_ more people I knew died. But, as I sat in the darkness, and stared at his body bathed in moonlight, I knew that I loved him. And it wasn't frightening or intimidating… it was true. I'd go mad if I lost him.

I reached my hand out and lightly ran it over his body. I moved down the sinewy muscles of his back and over the rounded globes of his arse. I loved him.

I turned my head away and wiped away more ridiculous tears with the back of my hand. A sudden, sick feeling was growing in the pit of my stomach. Now, I could understand how Percy must feel. The killer had to be stopped.

But how?

The satiny material of my gown made it easy for me to slip quietly from the bed. The thick carpeting absorbed my footsteps as I slipped out onto the balcony. I quietly settled onto the lounge chair in the corner.

The whole world was asleep at this hour. The only things moving seemed to be the owls, and me. My thoughts wouldn't let me sleep. I had to push the dead from my mind and focus on the solving their murders. I felt like they would never rest in peace until I did. I had to think…fit all the pieces together.

Suddenly, the story Draco had told me weeks ago about the girl in the hospital popped into my head. Something he'd said at the time stuck with me: _Most of her left side was severely burned, skin gone, everything_. I needed to know more about that case. It wouldn't hurt to do a bit of digging… Draco had said the person was never caught. Maybe there was something … an old issue of the Daily Prophet or …

"What are you doing out here?" Draco's voice cut into my thoughts, startling me.

"You have to stop sneaking up on me like that."

He slid behind me, straddling the lounge and settled me between his legs. "Even if I'd come out singing the Weasel King song, I don't think you'd have heard me. What were you thinking so hard about, eh?"

"Nothing, just… everything."

"Ah, that clears it all up." He wrapped his arms around me.

"I mean, nothing is making sense. People keep dying… people I care about, and it seems they—we aren't getting any closer to solving this case."

"I see. Well, I don't think you can solve it at three o'clock in the morning. Come and get some rest, and tomorrow we can really think about it."

"Draco," I started to ask him more about the girl in the hospital, but I remembered how sensitive it had been for him. I didn't want to upset him, especially with nothing more than speculation. "Nothing. You're right, we can talk about it tomorrow."

I tilted my head back to rest on his chest. He was gently stroking my stomach. I liked it when he touched me. He seemed to do it automatically whenever we lounged about or just happened to be near each other.

"You know," he began, "the Ministry ball is only a week away. Do you think you will be feeling up to it? I'd be more than willing to skive off—"

"Oh no!" I cried then groaned.

"What?"

"I had _completely_ forgotten about the ball."

"No worries, we don't have to go. I'm sure after all that's happened …"

"No, you don't understand. I've got to give a speech. Nothing big, Shacklebolt just wants me to say a few words, but I haven't even started it. I haven't even got a dress!"

Draco sighed. "Well, you've got a week and I'd be willing to help any way I can if you need it."

I turned my head and looked up at him. His eyes were downcast toward me, the long pale lashes like a curtain over his eyes. I smiled and turned away to look at the sky. "You still surprise me sometimes," I said.

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

"Sometimes, you say the sweetest things. It used to frighten me," I confessed. "That you knew all the right things to say."

"And now?"

"I find it rather charming."

"Of course I am," he said and I could hear the smile in his voice. We were quiet for several minutes. I was starting to drift off to sleep again when he spoke.

"Since we're confessing things, I still find it hard to believe that you agreed to dinner with me. If someone would have told me five years ago, that I would someday have permission to touch Hermione Granger's soft," –he kissed my shoulder—"brilliant body any way I please … I'd have hexed them six ways to Sunday."

His words didn't rouse me from sleep, so much as his actions. His hands traveled up my body ending with his hands gently weighing my breasts. He massaged them and alternately rubbed slow circles over my nipples. I bit my lip to stifle the gasp.

"Any way you please?" I asked.

"Don't I?" he asked in reply. "I've touched you here." He pressed his lips to the side of my neck. I shivered as I felt his tongue dart out to wet my skin. "I've touched you here …" He lifted a breast with one hand, while the other hand skimmed down my body. "And most importantly, I've touched you and I've tasted you and I've fucked you _here_."

He deftly slid his hand along my inner thigh until his finger-tips tickled me there. I had not worn knickers to bed and when his fingers discovered the fact, Draco groaned quietly and rested his forehead on my shoulder. He spread my legs so that we both straddled the lounge chair. I could feel his hard chest pressed along my back, and lower, the prodding stiffness of his erection. One of Draco's long fingers traced lazy lines that drove me crazy. He dipped a finger inside, lower, gathering moisture before bringing his hand back up my torso to pinch my nipples.

"You still haven't fulfilled your promise, Granger." His low tone rumbled against my back.

It was so hard to think. His hands… "You-you fell asleep."

"I'm awake now, love." He proved just how awake he was by grinding his erection into my backside.

Finally, I twisted around and kissed him and it was clumsy and hungry and just perfect. Without breaking the kiss, I hitched my sleeping gown up high, revealing my nakedness underneath and straddled his lap. I brazenly ground my hips into his erection. The only thing between was the thin cotton pyjama bottoms he wore. It felt good, but more than that, Draco elicited small sounds with every roll of my hips that set my body on fire. The sound of our lips parting when Draco finally broke the kiss was loud on the still, early-morning air.

"God, Hermione," he said. Encouraged, I nudged him until he leaned against the back of the lounge chair. I kissed him briefly before I slid down to prop myself between his thighs.

The hard length of him twitched under my gaze. I felt more boldly than I ever had before and reached out to grab him through the cotton of his trousers. Draco's eyes closed for only a moment, and then opened again to watch what I would do next. I never looked away from his face as I slowly untied his trousers. The anticipation alone had his chest heaving. I tugged the pyjamas down, revealing all of Draco to me.

The moon cast a soft light on his body. He was beautiful, from his sleep tousled hair all the way down to the quivering piece of flesh resting against his stomach. I moved both hands along his inner thighs. They felt firm and strong beneath my hands. I wanted this to last. I wanted to know Draco's body like I knew my own.

I gently stroked the delicate skin of his scrotum: the silken skin in the middle, and further down to the soft, firm skin between his scrotum and anus. I glanced up and Draco's head was thrown back as he panted heavily. When the touching stopped, he opened his eyes and they were near black. Only a thin ring of that odd gray colour was left.

I bypassed the area he wanted me to touch most. My fingers teasingly trailed through the curly blond hair and moved up to caress his abdomen. The muscles bunched beneath my hands but he did not speak. His eyes fluttered for just a moment, but he did not close them.

I got to my knees and flung my hair over one shoulder. His expression was pained by the time I dipped my head and breathed hot kisses along his inner thigh. I barely grazed my lips along his sac, and finally along the throbbing shaft of his erection.

My fingers followed the same trail: along his inner thigh, over the delicate skin of his sac and around his rigid length. I wrapped my hand fully around him and gave a gentle squeeze. A viscous drop of fluid oozed from the tip. Finally, Draco broke.

"Please, I need you—" he choked off his sentence when I closed my mouth around the leaking head. I teased the slit at the top and the underside with my tongue.

Draco groaned. The sound went straight to my groin and I knew a probing finger would find me more than ready for him. His hips bucked slightly as I slid as much of his thick length in my mouth as I could. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked hard as I slid him out.

"God Hermione, I won't last long," Draco panted. "I want to be inside you."

I obediently released him to crawl along his body, dragging my breasts over his erection in the process. I straddled him and he immediately tugged my gown over my head and tossed it across the balcony. He plunged his fingers in my hair and kissed me, deeply and soundly.

His hands were everywhere: My breasts, my bum, my back, stomach …. The whole time I was moving desperately against him. My own ardor so high, I thought I might combust if I didn't feel him in me soon.

His head fell back and I instinctively left open-mouth kisses along his throat. I simultaneously began moving my hips. I moved frantically, trying to create as much friction as possible. Draco leaned back and I balanced myself placing both hands on his chest. I lifted up and he reached between us to guide himself to my entrance. He then placed both hands on my hips and, almost painfully slowly, pulled me to him until he was fully sheathed inside. And he was so deep; so incredibly deep inside me.

We were both panting, both fighting for control. His fingers were digging into my backside, until finally he released me and opened his eyes.

"You're so beautiful, Hermione," he said.

I smiled at him and he moved my hips forward and back. He finally set the rhythm he wanted and freed his hands to touch my body.

He circled my waist and brought both hands up to cup my breasts. He gently tugged at my nipples which were super sensitive by now. My speed increased uncontrollably and I fell forward. Draco met me, thrust for thrust and in my head I screamed _yes, yes, yes, yes _keeping pace with our love making.

We didn't slow down when he pulled me in for a kiss. I rubbed against him with delicious friction and I felt it building below my navel. I broke the kiss and strived for completion. I forgot the silent mantra and screamed raggedly as I came. My head fell forward and I didn't stop. There was more… God, how could there be more.

Draco panted hotly in my ear and suddenly he flipped us so that he was on top and I was on my back with my head at the foot of the chair. Now my hands were free and I wrapped both arms and legs around his sweat dampened body. He pumped into to me hard and it wasn't long before I felt it again. This time, Draco groaned aloud. His arms quivered. He thrust a few more times and suddenly stilled as he orgasmed. I was right behind him and together we trembled until the last of it was wrung from us.

The sound came back, my vision cleared and once again we lay under the quiet stillness of night. Draco had collapsed right on top of me and it was just fine with me. It made me feel safe.

Draco pressed a light kiss to the side of my neck. "I love you."

* * *

AN: So, this chapter has been written for, like, six months. It was part of the reason why I didn't update for so long. I personally felt that it was much too soon to have Draco profess feelings of love; however, every time I re-wrote the chapter, it ended the same. So, what could I do? These characters really do have minds of their own! Anyway, thanks to: UnseenLibrarian, Kyra4, DaOnLeeSam, Roseasweet, and Dramione-Fan17 for the awesomest reviews!

Thanks so much to kamikaze-tryst for the beta job!


	13. The Ones We Love

Disclaimer: No money being made; no copyright infringement intended. I write for fun and to learn.

**Chapter 13: The Ones We Love**

Frozen; my tongue felt like a useless thing in my mouth.

Draco gracefully extracted himself from my body and stood to gather our things. My body was suddenly chilled from the loss of contact, but I couldn't voice my protest. My heart was in my throat, and I was afraid that if I moved, or spoke--or even blinked, then this moment would shatter into a million irreparable pieces. Draco fished his wand from where it had rolled beneath the chair and cleaned us off.

What was he thinking? Should I say it back to him? Does he want me to?

Draco is in love with me?

"I can practically _hear _the cogs turning in that huge brain of yours," he said, slipping into his sleep trousers. "And that's fine—we will discuss it, but not tonight. You need rest."

He suddenly stopped, and leaned towards me until his face was inches from mine. A crease formed in his brow, and he looked like he was thinking--hard. Finally, he closed the space between us and planted a kiss on my lips. His were warm and still swollen from our love-making.

I found my voice. "Draco, I—"

"We'll talk about it tomorrow." He kissed me again.

The words were there. I wanted him to know that I loved him too, but I couldn't force it past my tongue, out of my mouth. Not yet; so I just nodded, and said, "Okay."

We didn't talk about it the next morning, because I left.

He said we would discuss it, but I had no clue what to say to him. I'd been awake all night thinking about Draco and the murders, but mostly Draco. I was happy and confused and scared all at once. I had never considered that he might return my feelings and there could actually be something of a future with him.

And now, I _had_ to analyze his words—rationalize everything within an inch of its life until it fit into what my mind could accept as plausible. What if he didn't mean it? What if it were one of those heat-of-the-moment things?

I couldn't take it because now I had begun to hope. What had started out as sheer curiosity —fine, curiosity _and_ lust— had now morphed into something that made me feel as though I were flying and falling all at once. It was something that I didn't think I was quite ready to have, but when are any of us really ready for love?

I'd read once, a book by Mathilda Mellosworth entitled, 'Identify Yourself, Witch', that said people never really believed they could find real love, so they settle for companionship—someone to touch and kiss and talk with. I personally think love is something most people fear having because they fear losing it. Companionship, I had in abundance. I wanted what Draco offered so badly, I could taste it. I wanted love, even if I was afraid of it.

It took me all night to figure that one out, which didn't leave much time for me to figure out what I should do about the murders.

After having next to no sleep, I got up at the first sign of daylight and dressed quietly. It was a workday and Draco had taken the day off to spend with me, but I had other plans. He was still sleeping deeply when I scribbled a note on a torn piece of parchment and placed it on my pillow next to him. Silently, I crept out of the room and down the stairs to use the Floo.

It was early.

The sweet-smelling, mingled aroma of tea and pastry shops all along Diagon Alley mixed with the fragrance of late spring. My stomach grumbled and I couldn't remember having eaten anything at all the day before. Mrs. Weasley would have had a fit. Of course, I knew nutrition was important, but after all the death I'd seen, eating wasn't at the top of my to-do list.

I made the turn onto Knockturn Alley, down the narrow street and into the tall skinny door squished between two shops.

I didn't expect to find anything useful to the Auror's case, but it would satisfy my curiosity, anyway. Draco had said he'd met the girl in the hospital when he had been recovering from burns from Crabbe's cursed fire. The girl's injuries sounded curiously similar to mine. That's what bugged me the most. I felt as though there was a connection, I just didn't know what it was. I needed to find something—anything that might help with her mysterious death.

If Draco had been in the hospital because of Crabbe's fire, then the time frame would have been at the end of the war, five years earlier. I asked the librarian to see copies of the Daily Prophet from the year 1998, through the month of July.

It was tricky. During that time, Voldemort had taken over the Ministry and any source of news except the Quibbler, and even that, eventually.

Crimes had been covered up and only half truths had been reported. I spent more than an hour combing the newspapers. I was frustrated because I had found only a hand full of articles that actually reported the news as it happened. There was nothing about the girl and her sister. I snatched up the last paper and scanned the first page, and I might have tossed it aside as well, but the name 'Larry Luchtenstein' caught my eye.

Curious. I had no idea Lucky had been in Law Enforcement during the war. I unfolded the paper and read the entire article as fast as my eyes could follow the words. Apparently, the end of the war had been around the same time he had joined the Law Enforcement department. An interviewer from the Prophet had asked questions pertaining to the unsolved deaths of the Muggle wife and Muggle-born step-daughters of his partner, Micah Trotman.

Coincidentally, the children had died from burns, but there wasn't a reported fire. At the end of the article was a picture and quote from Micah's ex-wife, a pure-blood witch.

"_It's a terrible tragedy that magical children had to die this way. But I think it is proof that Muggles shouldn't be allowed to raise magical children. It's like trolls trying to raise humans—they just don't know how… Micah and I amicably split several months ago, but I send my sincerest condolences…" _

I stared at the picture. Besides the awful quote to the left of her photo something else bothered me. There was something incredibly familiar about her face, the way she blinked coyly at the camera. I was certain I'd never seen the forty-something year old witch in my life, and yet, I felt as though I'd seen those dark eyes before; but where?

I folded the paper and with an abruptness that nearly tipped my chair, I stood. There was only one way to find out.

I headed towards the exit as quickly as possible without breaking into a run. Lucky worked the graveyard shift. I checked my watch and knew that if I hurried, I might be able to catch him before he left for the day.

I Apparated inside the Ministry main level within seconds and jogged to the lifts, ignoring the stares as I ducked inside and pounded my fist on Level 7.

The doors had barely began to part when I squeezed passed them and ran down the corridor to Magical Law Enforcement. I paused outside of the Law Enforcement door, trying to catch my breath, and then reached out to turn the knob.

I immediately realized that I'd never been in the Law Enforcement Department before. It looked quite the opposite of the Aurors' office. It was a sea of cubicles and file cabinets, the occasional harried looking solicitor and a wall full of memos and most wanted posters. There was no way I would find Lucky's desk before he left.

I stopped a solicitor that passed close by. The young man was tall and very thin with dark blond hair. "Pardon me," I said, "Could you point me to Larry Luchtenstein's desk?"

The man eyed me carefully the pointed to a door at the side of the room. I'd forgotten, Lucky was a detective. He'd have his own office. "Over there, but you've just missed him," said the man.

_Damn_.

"Oh," I said. "Thanks anyway. I'll come back later." I turned and was already thinking of sending an owl to Lucky's home when the man stopped me.

"Excuse me, Miss?" I turned and the man ran long fingers through his hair.

"Yes?"

"His partner, Micah Trotman might be in, if you wanted to leave a message. Just knock before you enter." The man grinned. "Trotman's an old grump."

"Thank you …"

"Roger."

"Thank you, Roger."

He winked. "No worries, love; the pleasure's all mine."

I blinked. The moment I'm in a relationship is when men decide to flirt with me. I shook my head and went to the door he had pointed out.

Lucky and Trotman's office was one of about four offices lined up along the left wall. It had one slender window.

The blinds were drawn, but I could just make out Trotman's face through the cracks. Roger was right. He looked quite surly, but six years of Professor Snape had made me impervious to such a greeting. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"What do you want?" said a deep, gruff voice that matched his expression and reminded me of Alastor Moody.

"So sorry to disturb you. I actually came to see Lucky—"

"Lucky isn't here."

I felt ridiculous having this conversation through a door. "I am aware of that. If I could just come in—"

The door suddenly swung open to reveal Trotman glaring at me from behind the desk. I stepped inside and immediately noticed the acrid stink of cigars. I walked forward to stand in front of his desk, next to the chair. He might have sounded like Moody, but he sure didn't look like him. Micah Trotman was very attractive. He had an olive complexion and dark, wavy hair that was slightly grayed at both temples. He looked big but lean and had dark, fathomless blue eyes

However, it was all ruined by the deep scowl that was etched into his face.

"May I?" I asked, indicating the empty chair.

He didn't answer so I sat down anyway. Trotman watched me and waited for me to give reason for my intrusion.

"Thank you for seeing me," I said. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"I know who you are. What do you want?"

"As I've said, I came to see Lucky, but it's even better that you're here. You see, I'm sort of working with the Auror department on the murder case of the Muggle-born women." I paused to gauge his reaction. He calmly blew smoke in my direction.

"What has that got to do with me? As you've stated, that's now an Auror case." He was bitter about that. I could tell in the way his lip curled when he said 'Auror'.

"I've noticed some consistencies in the way these poor women died with a case a few years back," I said. "A case that's now gone cold, and I think—I think you might be able to help me with that."

"That so?" He leaned back in his chair and narrowed those deep blue eyes on me.

I resisted the urge to snatch the cigar from his lips and snuff it out on his desktop. "It's about your stepdaughters, Sir; I believe their deaths are somehow connected to this current case. Perhaps even committed by the same person. I'm aware that their… the suspect was never apprehended."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew that I believed it to be true. That's what had been bothering me about the whole thing. There were just too many similarities to be coincidental.

Trotman was still as stone. I was starting to think he'd not heard a word I said, but then his face slowly turned bright red.

He blinked. "Get out." His words were flat, emotionless, and cold.

"Detective Trotman, I am so sorry for your loss. I am, but I believe there is a connection between these deaths and your family. If you could just--"

"Look," he said, and crushed the cigar in an already overflowing ashtray. "If the goddamned Aurors couldn't figure out who the murderer was, I don't know why you think you will. Let my daughters rest in peace."

"But Sir, I think—"

"I don't care what you think. It's people like you, sticking your nose where it don't belong, that make it hard for me to do my job. Leave the detective work to me."

"But, Sir—"

"Keep your nose out of my business. You can let yourself out."

And just like that, I'd been dismissed. He turned back to his work and completely ignored me. I sat there for nearly a full minute half-expecting him to say something else. I had never expected him to be so uninterested in finding the person that murdered his whole family. I quietly got up and walked to the door. I paused just long enough to glance back at the detective.

"You know, you are the most dispassionate, uncaring person I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Good day."

I slammed the door as I left.

"Package came for you."

I looked up from my work spread across the desktop in Draco's study.

"What? I didn't order…" My words trailed off and my blood suddenly turned to ice in my veins. Draco's eyes widened as well. I immediately thought about the last time I had received an unexpected package.

"Bad choice of words," he said. "I meant to say _I_ ordered something for you and—here."

He laid two large boxes on the desk in front of me. I slowly calmed down and my heart rate returned to normal. My fear easily subsided to curiosity.

"What's this?"

"Just one less thing you have to do. Open them."

I grabbed the one to my left. It was a big box wrapped in light blue paper. I lifted the lid and glanced at Draco who was leaning against the back of the sofa, watching me. I looked back down at what I'd uncovered and first saw a small white card on top. It simply read: From Draco.

I pulled the tissue paper aside and gasped. It was a set of moonlight-silver robes. I lifted it from the box. The fabric was lighter than air in my hands. It was adorned with tiny crystals along the hem and cuff. The neckline dipped rather low and was held together by another, slightly larger crystal. It was a lovely garment, and very expensive-looking.

"Draco, it's positively beautiful."

He walked towards me looking extremely pleased with himself. He lifted the lid from the other box and revealed a stunning, violet dress. It was a long, formal, halter-style chiffon dress that was unadorned. The elegant, flowing material moved like water.

I loved them both.

My first instinct was to refuse such extravagant and expensive gifts, but Draco was mine and I his. He was perfectly within his rights to buy me things if it made him happy. And I was within mine to accept them.

Draco, however, noticed my hesitation.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. His face was impassively curious and only his voice quavered slightly.

"I was just thinking about how being with you is still so new, different." I brushed my hand along the dress again. "This is almost too much."

It took me several seconds to work up the courage to grab his shirttails. I was still learning him and he wasn't making it easy; his moods changed with the wind. I pulled his body close to mine and wrapped my arms around his slender waist. To my delight, he let me.

"Different, eh?" he said. "Well you better get used to it."

I hugged him tightly. He smelled like soap and something distinctly Draco. I looked up at him and those mesmerizing eyes were staring right back. "Thank you."

He frowned a little.

"What?" I asked.

"Well, I expected you'd be a little more thankful than that—I was hoping for a kiss, at least."

I leaned my head back to get a better look at him. "Please tell me that was a joke."

He shrugged. "Women are hard to buy these days."

I pinched his side and he jumped from the circle of my arms, laughing.

"Prat," I said.

He laughed some more and came back to me, kissed me. "I'm just having at go at you," he said between kisses. "Relax…."

He claimed my lips in a brief but intense kiss. He pulled away, slightly tugging my bottom lip as he did. I nearly groaned in protest. How I loved his lips.

He circled around the sofa and fell onto it with his feet in the cushions. "Where have you been all day?" he asked.

All day? I had forgotten that this was actually the first time I'd seen Draco since I'd left this morning. And now, I could see the sun through the French doors, the sky was a dark purple, like an old bruise. And it was quickly fading into night. It had been a long day.

I had been back and forth between writing my speech for the Ministry ball and puzzling through this murder case. Harry said he'd call us if there was anything new to report. I guessed no news was good news.

So far, I'd managed to come up with a couple of key points for the speech and nothing for the murders. I was stuck. Harry had compiled this very logical list of suspects. However, the suspects couldn't possibly be connected to the murders five years previous. Something was missing.

I completely abandoned my work and limped over to join him on the sofa. I think I had done too much on a sprained ankle for one day. I sat with him and he motioned for me to turn so that I could rest my foot in his lap. He took it up without hesitation and began to massage the ankle, and waited for me to talk about my day. I told him about everything: the library, Officer Trotman, and my suspicions about a possible connection between the two cases.

"But, if Pansy or Daphne is our suspect, how would they have committed the crimes nearly five years ago?" Draco asked. "They were in school just like us—well, like me. And more importantly, why would they have killed Cynthia and her sister?"

"That's where I'm stuck." I sighed. He used his thumb to work out a sore spot in the arch of my foot.

"Don't worry yourself over it," said Draco.

I quickly pulled my ankle from his hands. I stared at him in disbelief.

"What?" he asked.

"I can't believe you just said that."

"What?" he repeated. "That you shouldn't worry?"

"Yes, _that_. Penelope was one of the nicest people I've ever met. What did she do deserve this? What did Lavender do? I've even had an attempt on my _own_ life. How can I not worry until this person has been stopped?"

Draco swung his feet to the floor, but still faced me on the sofa. "Hermione, trust me, everyone wants to stop whoever is making all our lives miserable, but when has anything ever been solved in a fit? The _only_ way to accomplish anything is with a clear head."

I scoffed. "That's easy for you to say…."

"No, it isn't, but it's the truth. You know it."

He was right. Still, no matter what rationale Draco presented me with, I wouldn't sleep until the killer was brought to justice. Tears welled in my eyes and I tried to hold them back. Tears typically make men uncomfortable— at least that had been my experience with Ron and Harry.

"I'm so angry," I said. I'm angry with myself for not being able to save Penny or Lavender. I'm angry with this— this woman, for doing this in the first place."

"That's the problem with you Gryffindors. Always thinking you can do foolish things like protect everyone, when you just can't. You can only be responsible for yourself and hope everyone else does the same."

"Are you saying that if we found ourselves in a threatening situation together that you would save yourself?"

"No, I'm saying that playing hero will only get us both killed."

I looked askance at him. "This coming from an officer whose job is to protect others."

"You're right … that's _my_ job, not yours. I don't worry about it, I just do it."

"I'm scared, Draco. I just want it to be over. I don't want anyone else to die." A tear escaped and rolled down my cheek to the corner of my mouth.

As I predicted, in the face of tears, Draco didn't really know what to say. He decided to pull me into his arms and hold me tightly against his chest. I wrapped my arms around him and held him back and it didn't matter that he didn't know the words to make everything better because there weren't any. We still hadn't even mentioned the confession Draco made to me last night, but I felt it. I knew it was true.

I was even more determined to protect myself and the people I love. Contrary to what Draco might think, I had no silly delusions that I could save everyone; however, there were a handful of people that I held dear and I would do anything in my power to keep them safe.

We fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

AN: I really appreciate the reviews from the previous chapter. Thanks Ceylon, UnseenLibrarian, Roseasweet, Dramione-Fan17, FemAguila, Stella-TakeMeHome-, and DaOnLeeSam! Also, a very big thanks to kamikazetryst for the beta job.

P.S. I tinkered with this after she returned it, so any typos or mistakes, are my own.


	14. Micah

Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 14: Micah**

Draco's long strides pulled ahead of mine as we weaved through the corridors at St. Mungo's. Harry had asked me to meet him on the floor for magical maladies; where Pansy Parkinson was being treated. He didn't argue when Draco insisted on escorting me.

Harry sent Owl Post at six o'clock in the morning so that he could give his report. Now that Percy had been excused for bereavement, and the Minister was currently indisposed, Harry had been instructed to share his daily report with me and I would later brief the Minister himself because Harry would be officially off-duty. Normally, that type of acknowledgement from the Minister felt incredible. Right now, I just felt numb.

I was trying and failing not to think about Penny and Percy or what any of the Weasleys might be going through. Every time I closed my eyes, even for the tiniest instant, I kept picturing the last time I'd seen her. Penny had come with Percy to the Burrow, and amidst loud conversations and raucous laughter all around her, she sat in a corner and gently rocked her baby to sleep. Her expression had been filled with nothing but sweet adoration of her son. And now he would never know the kind heart of his mother. I pushed the memory out of my head, and promised myself that I would spend the entire afternoon with the Weasleys; it was the least I could do.

Harry and one of the new Aurors-in-training; a young woman that had just graduated Hogwarts within the month were talking with stern, terse phrases that was usual for Aurors on duty; all business. As we approached them, the fresh faced young witch nodded and turned on her heel, her dark navy robes trailing behind her.

"Good morning, Harry," I said. "How is she?"

Harry briefly glanced at Draco. "She'll be fine; two cracked ribs and a pretty bad bruise on her cheek, some memory tampering. Healer says she'll be released to her family's care by the end of the week."

Draco exhaled forcefully. I tried to remember that he and Pansy were friends, and I found myself reaching out to grab his hand in mine. Harry ignored him altogether.

"Peter Parkinson is positively livid, to put it mildly" said Harry. "He's been in her room since he got here last night and he keeps threatening to go to the papers with this. We're doing everything we can to prevent that. We can't let him. It will ruin the case and be an absolute disaster among the public."

"He won't, Harry. He's just upset. I'm sure that if you explain-"

Harry shook his head. "I've already tried explaining until I was literally blue in the face."

There was a pause.

"What are we supposed to do, then?" I asked.

"Let me talk to him," Draco said. "I've got an idea."

Getting Harry to allow Draco to speak privately with Peter Parkinson was like getting Snape to wear frilly robes. Miraculously, and likely of sheer exhaustion, he relented and Draco had gone into Pansy's room unsupervised.

Draco convinced Peter Parkinson not to take his story to the papers. I was certain that his decision had little to do with cooperating with the Ministry, and more do to with the fact that he did not want it known that his daughter was a member of a hate group. Parkinson threatened us with information, and apparently, we could threaten him right back. That was the kind of information that would not favor the Parkinson's when they had risked so much by sticking around after the war to rebuild.

By mid-morning, I had given the morning report to the Minister of Magic. Shacklebolt had been pleased that Peter Parkinson decided not to share his story with the press. We didn't tell him we'd nearly had to blackmail him into submission.

Pansy had given her official statement and account of her attack to the Aurors, and it had not been much. Someone had tampered with her memory, and left a messy job of it; the last thing she remembered was Apparating to her parents' home to meet her mother for breakfast.

Harry, Draco, and I decided to catch a late brunch. I hadn't been eating properly as of late and with all the healing my body had been going through, I needed the energy. The three of us got no further than the dining hall in St. Mungo's.

I eyed Harry as I sipped from my goblet of pumpkin juice. "So, Harry, how are you holding up?"

His emerald green eyes quickly glanced at the fruit bar, where Draco was piling his bowl high, then back to me.

"I don't know. All right, I suppose. I haven't really even had time to stop and think about it." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes as though all those thoughts suddenly came rushing into his line of vision.

"How's Gin?" I tried to keep my voice soft, and inviting. To let him know that even after all these years, he could still talk to me about anything.

"She's fine. It's Percy we're all worried about; Ron says he won't eat, doesn't sleep…Hasn't even looked at his son; Mrs. Weasley won't let Brian out of her sight."

Ron had taken a couple days off to be with his family, and checked in with Harry every few hours. I still had not really talked to Ron since that night in my hospital room. Merlin, that seemed like eons ago.

"Percy will be fine," I said. "He just has to grieve, but eventually, he'll remember his son and his job and all the other people who love him."

Harry opened his mouth to speak just as Draco returned to the table. Harry shot me a look that said, later, and stuffed a forkful of eggs in his mouth instead. Draco immediately began splitting his fruit with me by spooning strawberries, grapes and melon chunks onto my plate.

"I was thinking," he said, casually. "It's got to be Daphne Greengrass."

"What?" I asked.

Draco lowered his voice. "The killer-it's Daphne."

Harry looked at me, trying to communicate his impatience with Draco. Harry thought a Dark Artifacts Investigator had no business in a case like this one. In the past Harry might have just told Draco to piss off. I knew that it was because of me and my involvement with Draco that Harry refrained.

Instead he asked, in the same voice he might ask a toddler, "And how did you draw that conclusion?"

Draco, on the other hand, was not so courteous. He rolled his eyes. "Piss off, Potter. Hermione, do you remember that day you were spying on Daphne and I in Knockturn Alley, the day you and I talked in the library?"

"I was not spying on you," I tried to hide the blush I knew was staining my cheeks. "Yes, I remember the day I happened to see you talking."

Draco smirked but wisely refrained from any smart remarks. He suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Well, she was upset because I told her I wasn't interested in her—romantically speaking. You see, the previous evening, we sort of shared a kiss." He immediately looked to me.

I tried to keep a straight face. Though I had specifically asked him if there was anything between them, and he'd told me no, I still had no right to get upset. Who he kissed before he was anything to me, shouldn't matter now. It absolutely should not. More important things were happening.

"What's your point, Malfoy," said Harry.

Draco ignored Harry and continued, his stormy eyes locked on mine. "After the kiss, she told me she was in love with me." He glanced at Harry, no doubt wishing him anywhere but here. "I panicked and ran out. The next day, I felt like a bastard, she's been my friend since Hogwarts after all. So, I left the Quidditch game early and went back to her flat to apologize, except she didn't want an apology. Another argument started, when I tried to Apparate out of there, she grabbed my sleeve and that's what you saw Hermione, we argued in Knockturn Alley and I told her to leave me alone."

Well.

"Then when we were at the theater, Hermione, she gave me this." He slid a folded slip of parchment across the table to me.

Slowly, I picked it up and opened it. It said, _BLOODTRAITOR, _in dark, angry capital letters.

I read it several times before I spoke. "Why didn't you show this to me before now?"

"I didn't think it was necessary. I thought she was just being bitter about everything that happened and that I'd brought you along."

Harry raised his eyebrows, and his expression went from surprise to suspicion, and finally settled on disbelief.

"What?" Draco asked. That obviously was not the reaction he had expected.

"You brought Hermione on a group date with someone that professed their love for you?" Harry asked slowly. "How did you expect her to react, Malfoy?"

Draco's lips thinned. "That was never my intention. It was never like that."

"Draco," I said, trying my best to cast aside my annoyance with him at the moment. "This hardly means she is our killer. I'm not saying we should cross her from our suspect list, but I actually feel sorry for her now."

He snatched the note from my hand; classic Draco now making a full appearance. "Then you are a fool. If you want to waste your energy feeling sorry for some lunatic that wants you dead, then please, be my guest."

Draco abruptly stood and dropped enough money on the table to cover both of our meals. I glanced at Harry, who was trying not to laugh, and quickly followed Draco.

I had to jog to catch up to him. He was already halfway down the corridor to the lifts by the time I caught up to him.

"Draco wait. _Wait_." He stopped, but didn't turn around. I walked around to face him.

"What is the matter with you?" I asked.

He sneered. "You and Potter ganging up on me. I expect it from him, but not you-I didn't like it." He paused, and I could see the muscle jumping in his jaw. "I need you to take me seriously, Granger."

"No one was ganging up on you." I moved closer until I could see the lighter shades of gray in his eyes. He didn't move away. "Look, I'm sorry if you feel Harry is giving you a hard time, but I need you to realize that this isn't easy for him, either."

Draco rolled is eyes, but I kept talking. "Every one of us is inches from going round the bend. Regardless, we still have serious business to handle. If you think Daphne is our person, I'm not the one you need to convince; Harry is. I will always support you and take you seriously, but I can't do that if you storm out every time Harry or Ron says something that makes you angry. Come back and sit with us."

For a moment, I thought Draco was going to leave anyway, but after a few seconds, he grumbled and turned to go back to our table. But, I didn't let him get very far. I tightened my grip on his hand and pulled him back to me, and before he could argue, I lightly touched his lips to mine. He returned it, and before we ended up doing something inappropriate for where we were, I pulled away.

"Are you okay?" I asked, quietly.

He took a deep breath, and let it out through his nose. "I am now."

We walked back to our table.

The next couple of weeks passed without incident, and the night of the Ministry Ball was suddenly upon us. I decided to wear the silver robes, mostly because they were so completely extravagant and a girl would need that on the arm of Draco Malfoy.

The large crystal on the front nestled between my breasts and if I'd been as well endowed as Ginny, there would have been no way I could comfortably wear these robes in public. The shimmery material clung to my body in all the right places. I felt like royalty.

My hair was in a partial up-design with long ringlets down in the back. And just for effect, tiny white gems shown sparsely between the dark waves.

"You are a goddess."

I jumped and whirled around to see Draco arrogantly leaning against the door jamb of the guest bedroom where I had been getting dressed. I had almost trained myself not to frighten when he snuck up on me as he tended to do. But, any snarky comment I had froze like ice in my throat.

His exquisite black robes were tailored to perfection, creating an expensive, masculine silhouette. He wore a silver tie that matched my robes. His hair was neatly combed, without being overly styled. So smartly dressed, and all I could imagine were those robes tossed aside like a pile of rags as I kissed him from head to toe.

He sauntered into the room, his gaze lingering on the jewel at my exposed décolletage. As he drew nearer, my heart sped until I was almost certain he could hear the reaction I had to him. By the time he lifted a hand to brush several tendrils behind my shoulders, I could barely breathe. He smelled heavenly, too.

"I tried to coordinate," he said, quietly, smoothing his tie.

_Say something_. I swallowed. _Anything_.

"You look very handsome," I replied, brushing non-existent lint from his shoulders; my excuse to touch him. My words were inadequate, so I just stood there, waiting for him to speak.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Are you nervous about your speech?"

I laughed. "It's not the speech, I've given them before."

"Then, what?"

"Not what," I said, "Who. It's you."

His brows immediately pulled into a tight frown. "What did I do?"

I shook my head, and several curls bounced onto my shoulders. "Nothing. You've done everything just right, actually." I took a deep breath. "I'm so-so lucky to be here with you, Draco. It's crazy, isn't it? I never thought…."

His face relaxed, and he cupped my face with his hands. "You remember what I told you, out on the balcony?" he asked. He waited for me to nod. "I meant it. Always"

"I want you to know something," I said. My heart beat furiously. "Before the papers start writing about us and our friends start in with their opinions of us, I want you to know that I am so thankful for you, and everything you've done. If it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't even be alive."

"You don't have to thank me for that, Hermione."

I nodded, the motion limited because his hands still cradled my face. "Yes, I do. And, I also want you to know that-that I love you, too. Always."

There, I'd said it. The seconds stretched on for a lifetime and I thought of a thousand different responses he might have. The room suddenly seemed to be the size of a hat box, and just as stuffy.

Draco stared at me, his face frozen and unblinking. The tiny frown appeared again and I got that feeling of deep scrutiny from the way he looked at me. My eyes reflexively flickered from his eyes to his lips, which were parted and blowing sweet-smelling puffs of air on my face. My heart stuttered mercilessly as I moved forward and kissed him.

He responded hungrily and trapped me against his chest and held on as though he wanted to climb inside my skin, and his life depended on it. I was on the guest bed without having remembered the transition, looking up into Draco lust clouded eyes. My robes parted of their on volition, and rode up my thighs until I could feel the sateen bedding caressing me from behind. Draco trailed open-mouthed kisses along the column of my throat. His hand cupped my breast; his thumb grazed my nipple and I shuddered.

Draco exhaled heavily through his nose and nipped my ear. My body flushed from head to toe, and as the heat between my legs grew hotter, I rotated my hips letting my legs fall open. Draco settled between them, just like he belonged there. His erection prodded into me, hot and heavy, even through the fabric of our robes.

I was dimly aware of a very timid voice in the back of my mind: If this went any further, we wouldn't make it to the ball tonight. "Draco," I moaned. This only encouraged him. He moved his mouth to lave at the exposed skin between my breasts. The pressure of his wet mouth set my skin on fire.

"Draco…we have to…God, we have to stop."

Finally, reluctantly, we pulled apart, breathless and trembling, and he hid his face in the curve of my neck and shoulder.

"We should go, or else we'll be late," I said.

He cursed, and kissed me one last time. "God, you're amazing."

The Ministry of Magic was located in an abandoned Muggle warehouse, and enchanted to accommodate anything the Ministry needed. So, when the Ministry needed a place to hold social functions, the Department of Event Planning and Social Affairs made it happen. Tonight, that place was the Ministry rooftop.

We didn't have to worry about Muggles; all the wards and charms that kept them from coming near the abandoned warehouse, also muted our music and shielded our lights so that it all blended in with normal London sights and sounds.

Glowing pixies fluttered around inside of colorful blown glass globes, and provided soft hued lighting. The rooftop was sheltered beneath a tent made from expensive looking draping material. It was beautiful enough that I barely noticed the side glances thrown at Draco and I.

I refused to sit with Draco's friends, so he conceded and sat with mine. Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Ron along with Draco and I completed our table. Everyone nodded politely at Draco, and though I could tell that at least two of them didn't mean it, it still made me happy that they'd tried.

I immediately noticed the absence of Ron's girlfriend, but as I hadn't seen or spoken with him properly in days, I wouldn't bring it up in front of everyone, especially if he didn't. Maybe she was sick. Or maybe, she was smart and avoided these damn Ministry functions like the plague.

Our table fell into awkward conversation. Neville talked about his classes, and Ginny talked about Lily. Ron was strangely quiet, and Luna was the only one able to keep any kind of conversation going with Draco. At the moment, they were having a rather serious conversation about the dwindling population of the Humplehorned Snowhog-which ironically carried no resemblance to a boar, but closer to a gazelle- in the Alps. I tried not to roll my eyes.

I grew increasingly anxious as my moment drew nearer. I was prepared, of course. I'd finally finished the speech earlier in the week and allowed a few days for it to simmer before coming back for the final revision. Draco had heard it countless times, and I almost felt bad…almost. I was only anxious because it was going to be me and my speech that reminded the smiling, slightly intoxicated faces of the Ministry and the upper crust of aristocracy of our grim reality: Innocent, Muggle-born women were dead.

I felt a warm hand close over my knee under the table, effectively halting the twitch of my knee.

"You're going to shred your napkin to pieces," Draco whispered in my ear.

His warm, sweet-smelling breath sent tiny jolts of something down my spine. I turned to meet his calm gaze, which was focused on my hands. I had nearly twisted the napkin into a ball and with a blush that I felt in my face, I tossed the napkin on the table. Draco began to caress my knee; alternating quick assuring squeezes with soft strokes. I calmed down and very subtly, he moved his hand higher, his fingertips brushing my inner thigh. Higher and higher he went and my heart sped with a cross between fear and desire. With a cautious glance around the table, I snapped my knees shut, trapping his fingers between my thighs. I speared my vegetables and fed myself with unnatural, jerky movements. Draco's attention eased one form of tension only to stir another. But I liked it. After several agonizing minutes, he cleared his throat, sipped from his water glass, and resumed eating as if nothing had happened.

I was embarrassed. And I was aroused. I knew curious fingers would find my body hot and ready for Draco and with that knowledge, I wanted nothing more than to skive off the ball, forget the speech, and burrow deep into Draco's bed with his scent all around and all through me. As I watched Kingsley Shacklebolt make his way to the podium, I knew my fantasy wasn't happening. My knee twitched.

Shacklebolt was a simple man; he needed no announcement. Frankly, his sheer size was enough, though he moved his six-and-a-half-foot frame with the grace of a dancer. The ambient sounds of conversation, expensive dishes clinking and haughty laughter died as his presence filled the tent like something tangible.

"Let us remember," he began, his deep voice booming. "…that even as we commemorate those lost to the war just five years ago, there are those that still endure injustice and inequality. Let us remember that it is our duty to protect ourselves and also our fellow magical brethren. Let us remember this, so that those who have died five years, five months or even five weeks ago, did not pass beyond the veil in vain." There was a heavy pause. "With that, I'd like to introduce Hermione Granger. Not only is she the brightest witch of her age, she is a survivor. In every sense of the word."

Shacklebolt lifted his arm, palm out as if to say _voila_. The only thing missing was the spotlight to fall upon me on queue. This was it. I stood, with more enthusiasm than I felt. Draco squeezed my hand for encouragement before he let me go. The applause died as I approached the podium, or maybe my hearing stopped working.

As I stared out at the crowd and into mostly familiar faces, an awful thought occurred to me: The killer could be here. Someone depraved enough to kill from hate could be here, looking back at me, commemorating the dead with a solemn expression. Even though the thought made me angry, I could do nothing but breath deeply and begin my speech.

It wasn't your garden variety speech. How often will I get the responsibility to remind people how terrifying, how cruel and how short life can be, while encouraging their faith in the Ministry? That although it seems someone had died each week, we had the situation under control? But it was over. Before I knew it, I reached the end of my attempt at uplifting. I had complete faith in Harry, Ron, Draco, and any other member of the Ministry dedicated to solving this case, but realistically, they were no closer to solving this crime than they had been on day one.

The crowd applauded and abruptly pulled me out of my thoughts. Shacklebolt came forward again and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. His normally hard-as-stone stare was a little softer with some emotion that I'd often seen in my father's eyes; pride.

"Excellent job, Ms. Granger." He shook my hand before sending me off the tiny stage. As I made my way back to our table, I got a prickling feeling between my shoulders. I ignored the feeling that I was being watched, because I was … by a room full of people.

I blamed the feeling on the sudden paranoid thought I'd had before my speech. I was not being watched.

I sat down at the table to a round of _great-job-Hermione_, and took comfort in the fact that Draco's hand on my knee eased some of my being-watched anxiety. I was being ridiculous. Shacklebolt took to the podium again and encouraged everyone to eat drink and dance. Our dishes vanished, only to be replaced with fresh ones filled with an assortment of mouth-watering treats.

This time the feeling descended on me again …not just watched, stalked.

"Hermione?"

I double-blinked and met Luna's wide, misty eyes and then noticed the entire table had turned their attention to me.

"You all right, Hermione?" Neville asked.

_No_. "Yes. I-excuse me." I pushed my chair back and ignored the bewildered exchange of looks. I didn't get very far before I felt Draco's firm grip on my bicep.

We stood in the middle of the floor. People were mingling and dancing all around us, but I felt as though we stood under a spotlight. Draco's piercing stare with those swirling stormy irises looked into me.

"What's the matter with you." It was not a question.

"Nothing, I just … need-"

And that's when I saw him. Detective Trotman sat at table looking terribly out of place among his cheerful table mates. His navy blue eyes almost seemed to burn bright as he watched me. That tingly feeling between my shoulders flared like a breeched security alarm.

Draco gently shook my arm. "Hermione, do we need to leave?" He began tugging me towards the exit before I could answer.

"I'm fine, I just need to use the ladies' room." I managed a weak smile that even I didn't believe. Draco let go of my arm, even though his sneer clearly said he knew he was being lied to. "I'm just flustered from giving the speech and I just need a few moments to compose myself."

From the corner of my eye, I saw another table with eyes just for us. He followed my gaze. Greg, Blaise, Daphne and a recovered Pansy all watched the exchange between Draco and I unashamed. I turned away before I focused on the empty chair next to Blaise. Lavender's chair.

"Why don't you go talk with them," I said. "They are your friends." Draco hesitated. "And besides, Daphne is there. Maybe you can get some inside information." He lifted a brow. "Forget that, then. I'll be back in ten minutes, I'm fine."

He finally took a step back. "Five minutes and then I'm coming after you."

Non-negotiable.

"Fine." And as I headed toward the exit, he turned in the direction of his former housemates.

_Click-clack-click_. The sound of my shoes was like thunder in the narrow stairwell leading down to the main level. Merlin, five minutes will have passed just on these sodding stairs. Suddenly, the prickling between my shoulders was back. I stopped and glanced back up the stairs.

"Hello?" Darkness. Silence.

I gathered the hem of my robes in my hand and picked up the pace. It was an eternity before I reached the landing and rushed through the doors and into the dimly lit Atrium. A hand grabbed my shoulder and whirled me around.

"Detective! You nearly scared me to death. What on earth are you doing following me?"

Detective Micah Trotman swayed on his feet and I reflexively reached out to steady him, though as he weighed nearly seventy-five pounds more than I did, I wasn't sure what I could do for him. Out of sheer will, I was able to get him over to the fountain and ignore the images of Penelope's body thrown over the edge like a gruesomely discarded doll.

He smelled like fire whiskey and cigars.

"Detective, is there someone here with you, perhaps I should-"

"I'm fine," he croaked. He sure didn't sound like it.

"I'm sure if I just-"

"I said I am fine."

I huffed. "Right, well, then I suppose I should be on my way."

As I turned to leave, his large hand grabbed my wrist. My hand was already on its way to unsheathe my wand, when I caught the look in his eyes. Such pain. I had never seen such pain in a man's eyes, though I could only imagine the kind of thing that could cause it, and I thought of Percy. I let him drag me back to sit next to him on the edge of the fountain.

He scrubbed his face with both hands and I waited for him to speak.

"You asked me about the-the murders of my wife and step daughters."

I waited for him to finish.

"They weren't step daughters to me. I loved them as though they were of me."

He directed his sad gaze to the shiny floor in front of us.

"My ex-wife hated the fact that I left her for a Muggle. Hated it. She sent letters to me for months. Begging, threatening, pleading…." His face screwed up in memory. "You see, we couldn't have children. So, the fact that this Muggle woman could bear magical children really messed with her." He tapped his index finger to his temple.

I knew where this was going. It was like watching a train wreck unfold; tragic and unbearable, but I couldn't look away.

"Do you … do you think that she had something to do with those murders, Detective?"

He ignored my question. "I've decided to quit. My job. Friday was my last day. You see once the Minister finds out what I'm about to tell you, I'll be fired anyway." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture. It was of him and a young woman with dark brown hair and the widest, child-like eyes I had ever seen. He grinned into the camera, while she gazed adoringly up at him. His ex-wife. He tapped the picture. "Days before-before my girls died, she sent me a letter detailing exactly what she was going to do. She outlined everything, how she was going to use some powdered flower root and lace their toys with poison and watched with glee as they burned to death.

"I didn't do anything. I thought it was just another ridiculous attempt to get my attention. The next day my youngest daughter and my wife were both dead. My oldest, Cynthia, was in a coma." A tear slid down his cheek and landed on the picture he held in his hand.

"When Cynthia died, I burst into my ex's house in barely contained rage. She had wisely fled. No trace of her. The only thing that ever proves she existed is this picture." He passed it to me and I folded it in my hand.

"Micah," I said softly. "Why are you telling me this?"

He turned to me and his handsome face was grim. "Because you asked me if I thought there was a connection between the way my family died and these current murders. I say yes. Charlotte, my ex-wife is more than capable and adept at glamour potions. God knows what else she has picked up in the last five years, but this has her name all over it."

It was like someone dumped a bucket of frigid ice water over my head. The chill went from the crown of my head all the way to my toes. Charlotte … Charlotte … _Charlotte_. I stared at the picture in my hands. Those eyes.

"I vowed to bring her to justice for my family, for my unborn child. Yes, my wife was pregnant. In five years I have not found her. It's like she disappeared from the face of the earth. Vanished."

I jumped up and it was weird how my first thought was of Draco. Surely five minutes had passed.

"I'm sorry, Detective," I said. "Thank you for the information. You have no idea how helpful this is."

He dropped his gaze to the floor. "Please find her for me. For my family. For my young."

I nodded and took off toward the direction of the stairwell. The door was silent as I all but burst through it. The sound of voices stopped me. A voice that sounded like … Draco. I squeezed Charlotte's picture in my hand and took each step up as quietly as possible.

Daphne's robes came into view first; bright and buttercup yellow. She was pressed right up against Draco, who was pressed between her body and the wall. Suddenly Daphne snaked her thin arms around Draco's neck and kissed him. I felt my heart when it cracked. A simple jagged line right down the middle. He didn't move, didn't speak, he didn't protest.

And just as though he knew I'd be there, he lifted his beautiful gray eyes, and looked right into mine.

* * *

AN: Sorry for the long wait. I will get the next chapter posted ASAP! Thank you to everyone that reviewed in the last chapter!


	15. Right Blood

Disclaimer: No copy right infringement is intended; I write for fun and to learn.

**Chapter 15: Right Blood**

Every memory of every awful thing Malfoy had ever done to me swam to the forefront of my mind. Still, none of it hurt like this.

For what felt like centuries, I stood with my feet rooted to the floor, watching as Daphne threaded her bony fingers through the silky strands of hair at Draco's nape. He pushed Daphne away, a startled expression on his face, but I refused to see the half-formed apology in his eyes.

I had been such a fool. Such a _damn _fool.

Draco staggered away from Daphne, whom, ironically, did not look smug, but angry-with me, as though I had interrupted something really important between them. _Good_, I thought with vindictive satisfaction.

"Hermione…"

"Don't you dare say my name," I said. Draco took a forward step and I moved back.

"Shit-Hermione, please. It's not what you think, I swear."

Bile rose in my throat, hot and bitter, and tears welled in my eyes. To my credit, they weren't tears of hurt, but anger. Without another word, I fled to the exit from the stairwell, back into the Atrium. Detective Trotman had gone, and as I heard Draco burst from the doors behind me I turned and Apparated to the only place I could stop him from following me.

I appeared in the middle of my living room and immediately reset my wards. When I was certain neither he nor anybody could enter without having me literally open my front door to them, my knees buckled and I collapsed to the floor. My head was a tangle of sticky thoughts and I could barely extract one to focus on.

_God_.

How could I have been so blind? Of course Draco had been playing me. All those wonderful things he'd said, and I trusted him because I thought he deserved a second chance. He had been playing all of us the entire time. I had to tell Harry of my findings. I _needed _to put as much distance between my thoughts of Draco and the present as possible, because as much as I wanted to hate him at this moment, I didn't. I loved him, and that only made the pain from this betrayal worse.

I winced as I tightened my fist, and the sharp edges of something dug into my palm. It was the picture of Charlotte Bell that Detective Trotman had given me. I briefly left the chaos of my life behind. Setting my wand on the floor next to me, I unfurled my fist. It was slightly disturbing, how she stared so adoringly at him. Ironically, I could imagine exactly how she might have felt when he left her for another woman. My own feelings of betrayal seeped back into my awareness. I suddenly had the strange feeling that I had made a mistake. What if Daphne had just been using Draco to get to me-

"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

My arms and legs pulled taut as bowstrings; my spine audibly cracked at the sudden jerk. I lay prone and paralyzed in the middle of my living room floor. In my line of sight, my wand lay within inches of my useless fingers.

Even as my brain worked overtime, sending commands of movement, of panic, I could only lie in wait with my cheek pressed to the rough carpet. My wand was snatched away, snapped like a twig, and then thrown to a corner of the room; all hope was flung away with it.

There was no doubt in my mind as to who this person was that hated me with such intensity. My attacker vibrated with negative energy; I could literally feel the malice and madness rolling off her in waves.

"You filthy, Mudblood bitch," she said in a voice hard enough to cut glass. She suddenly flipped me onto my back with a swift, painful kick to my ribs. My eyes rolled to the back of my head before I focused on her tiny, angelic face-the product of an exceptional Youth Potion.

Charlotte Bell looked just as I had seen her twice before, except now I looked at her with the knowledge of her capability and of her madness. Though her skin was smooth and young and fresh, her eyes burned with experience, and a whole host of other awful things I hoped to never see in a living person again.

She lifted her leg and pressed the sole of her boot into the center of my chest. She was no longer the shy, pixie-like girl clinging to Ron's arm, but a calculating murderer. The shiny gold RightBlood pin on her cloak glinted in the light. She glanced to the badge on her chest and smiled.

"RightBlood," she said. "It was the perfect cover, right? Tell a bunch of rich, spoiled, Pureblood kids that they're better than everyone else, and they'd do anything you ask."

It was all very clear to me, now. She used the front of an equality organization to use their connections, and their money… all so she could exact her revenge; so she could take out her anger and hurt on innocent Muggle-born women.

_She's mad. She is completely insane, _I thought, unable to speak my new realization.

Merlin, to think of all the information she must have gleaned from Ron. I knew he would never knowingly tell her anything, but even as I felt her probing at my mind with her wandless use of Legilimency, I knew that this woman knew all the Aurors' secrets, too.

"Oh," she said as the memory from the stairwell swam to the forefront of my mind. "Seems that the Mudblood's gotten a taste of her own tonight. Did you enjoy our little display?"

She continued to scan through my memories, slowing at every one that featured Draco: The night on the balcony, the night we first made love, his visits to my hospital bedside, even the argument with Ron…. I blinked, the only part of my body that could move, in order to stem the flow of tears.

The boot pressed harder into my chest. "Spare me the tears, bitch. You deserve no mercy, and tonight you will die." She leaned in close so that I could see her eyes burning like hot coals. "And then, we will toss your body aside like the filthy, worthless Mudblood you are."

She brandished her wand, and the effects of the petrifying spell were vanished. The moment my vocals cords relaxed, I screamed. I screamed until my throat burned and tears streamed from my face. I screamed until my lungs stopped working.

"You can scream until your throat bleeds; no one will come. You see, while you were out playing Mudblood the Investigator, I've been preparing for your return. All these weeks I've watched you throwing yourself at a decent pureblood man like a whore. I've had to listen to Ron talk about you like a lovesick bastard, and to what end?" She screwed her face into a sneer. "To taint Pureblood legacies … stealing our men."

"You're crazy," I said, my voice rough and weak beneath the pressure of her foot.

"Oh, Hermione," she said. "You have no idea." She pulled a velvet, blood-red pouch from her cloak and let it dangle from her fingers. "Do you know what I have here?"

"I don't … care."

"You should. You see, this is the powdered root of Firestar. A dash of this to your bare skin, and that plain face of yours will be scarred for life without immediate medical attention." She lowered her voice to a delicate leer. "Any more than that, and I get to watch your filthy blood spill all over the floor of your meager little home. Hm, doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Burn in hell."

She started to speak, but her attention was suddenly drawn to the door. A harsh grin formed on her face. "Speaking of fun: we have a guest." She pointed her wand at the door, reciting a list of spells and charms, and then looked back to me. "What have you done to the door?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't; my throat felt raw. She kicked me hard in the ribs again. This time, I heard, and felt, the sickening snap of bone. Tears rolled back into my ears and hair. What little breath I had ripped painfully from my lungs.

I curled into a ball and my arms protected my midsection as she kneeled in front of my face. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked back until my eyes were wide and trained on hers.

"If you scream when that door opens, I will kill you and anyone that comes running, do you understand?"

I was already dead. I'd known that lying face down on the carpet. There was no way I was taking my innocent neighbors down with me.

"Yes," I breathed.

"Get up." She released me and I fell to the floor like a broken doll. I hadn't the strength to breathe, let alone stand or scream or run. "Get up, and open the door."

I dragged myself to my knees and onto my feet. I had to escape. I knew that if I let the visitor through the door, I would never get out alive.

I shuffled as I approached the door, taking shallow breaths against the searing pain in my rib cage. This was my only chance. I flung the door wide, barreling over who turned out to be Daphne in her buttercup yellow dress. She cried out in surprise, but I didn't look back. I ran flat out, but awkwardly in the strapped sandals I'd worn to the ball. Light rain had begun to fall, turning the pavement into a slippery obstacle course. Each foot fall jostled my ribs, sending white hot pain careening through my body. I rounded the corner, and froze mid-step.

The bark of crazed laughter that followed was reminiscent of a Bellatrix Lestrange brand of lunacy.

"Where did you think you were going, Mudblood?" Charlotte asked.

Like a puppet, my body turned and marched back towards the house … away from my only chance to live. Fear settled like lead in my gut. Logically, I knew this was the end. I was wandless, broken, and outnumbered. There was no way I would live to see her pay for the awful things she'd done; not just to me, but to five other innocent women. Still, some place deep inside, I knew my friends, and Draco, would come. They would find me in time. All I had to do was stay alive until then.

And suddenly, my heart soared. It couldn't be. A familiar thatch of white-blond hair drew my eye.

There was Draco, crouched between two bushes. He was hidden, except for his eyes that shone like silver beacons under the moonlight. He lifted one finger and pressed it to his mouth-silencing the scream of joy that had surely been rising in my throat. I would have forgiven him for anything in this moment if he could rescue me from Charlotte.

My vision swam and it was all I could do to stay on my feet, but the pain was blinding.

"Please, Charlotte…I need-"

"Shut up, Mudblood. I don't care what you need." She dug her wand into my side-right between my two broken ribs-urging me forward. The pain that ripped through my body blinded me and I fell in the front door, on top of a bleeding, very unconscious Daphne Greengrass.

"What the-"

Suddenly, Charlotte's wand soared through the air and bounced silently on the carpet and landed in the dark hallway beyond. Without missing a beat, Draco fell upon her, twisting one arm and then the other behind her back. A sense of relief washed over me as he raised his wand to bind her wrists.

"Hermione, are you-?" In a surprising show of strength, Charlotte's pixie-like body bucked and threw Draco off.

She turned and connected her boot with his chin. Blood poured from the slice in his lip. Her second kicked knocked Draco's wand from his hand, and it sailed out the door behind him. He blocked the next kick, and gave her ankle a sharp twist. She cried out, and threw a heavy glass figurine at his head, and narrowly missed.

Now would have been my chance. The front door was open to the drizzly street and completely unguarded, but I couldn't leave Draco behind.

The air crackled with the intensity of Charlotte's rage. She lunged at Draco, forcing him back. She straddled his waist, and punched him relentlessly. Her wild, mad magic swirled around her, blowing like a red, livid wind. Books flew from the shelves; the pages ripped from their spines like leaves from branches.

Draco was using every ounce of his strength to keep her from clawing at his face. He grunted as a perfectly aimed fist caught him in the jaw. Droplets of blood from his already busted lip landed in a splattered pattern on the light carpet. He used his left hand to block her fists, while he clutched her neck with the other, and visibly shaking with the effort of refraining from squeezing the very life from her.

"Goddamn it," he growled. "Don't make me kill you."

"Bloodtraitor!" she screamed at him. A heavy leather-bound edition of Hogwarts: A History slammed into his head at her silent command. The blow momentarily stunned him, and it was just enough time for Charlotte to gain the upper hand. With her wand lost among the debris, she picked up a snow globe and held it high above her head.

_No. _I had to do something-

Next to Daphne's head was the pouch that contained the powdered flower root. Time seemed to stop as I struggled to catch the little pouch in my fingertips. My entire body throbbed like the beat of a drum with the pain of what I expected was a pretty bad break of at least two ribs. The white and gold snow globe glinted in the light as it sailed through the air on a downward arc.

"No!" I screamed. My breathed sawed out of my lungs as I fought not to pass out.

My sudden outburst drew her attention and she blinked as though she'd forgotten I was there.

"I'm the one you want," I said. I continued to talk as I untied the drawstring on the pouch, careful not to touch the contents. "I'm the Muggleborn, just don't hurt Draco."

She moved too fast. Between one blink and the next, she lunged at me. She dropped the snow globe and picked up a splintered shard of my wooden table. My clumsy fingers fumbled with the drawstring. She swung the sharp edge of wood-

"_Stupefy!"_

And just like that, Charlotte fell, mid-lunge, directly atop Daphne. The fragment of wood landed soundlessly on the carpet, and the silence that followed was deafening. The only sound was my own heavy, erratic breathing and the soft groans coming from Draco.

Through graying vision, I saw Draco, his arm still extended from where he had crawled to the doorway and retrieved his wand.

ooo

Harry was kneeling over me. His brows were drawn up, under the rain-soaked fringe across his forehead.

I must have passed out, because my house was teeming with Ministry personnel. "Merlin, Hermione, are you all right?" he asked. I cried out when he tried to embrace me, and he jumped back in alarm. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, the barest hint of touch set my tender ribs throbbing.

"I'm fine-just a broken …" My voice trailed off when I glanced at Draco half-sitting up and wiping blood from his chin.

His face looked like he'd battled a juggernaut, and lost; blood that had leaked from the split in his lip trailed down his chin, onto his robes, and was smeared across his cheek. More blood trickled from a knot forming on his head where he'd been knocked with the book.

It was no wonder the members of the Portable Healing Unit rushed over to him. He pushed their hands away and shrugged from their efforts to assist him.

"No, I'm fine," Draco said, his speech a little slurred because of his swollen lip. "Help _her_, you idiot."

oooo

Someone draped a blanket over my body. Even though it was rough and scratchy, I appreciated the warmth it provided. The medi-wizard had given me a pain-killing draught. The insistent throbbing in my body had now dulled to an unpleasant twinge.

Two particularly thick-armed porters raised the gurney without jostling me. Aurors and several Law Enforcement Agents moved around my tiny living room; it seemed like every agent from level seven in the Ministry was present.

No-one noticed the grim-faced former Detective Micah Trotman as he slipped past the Aurors. Even in my draught induced haze, I knew he shouldn't be there. Daphne had already gone to St. Mungo's. Draco had gone to fill the Aurors in on what had taken place, and two other porters were preparing to cart Charlotte off to St. Mungo's where they would check her for injuries, then get her over to Azkaban to await trial.

Trotman hardly blinked as he stalked towards Charlotte. The pain-killing draught worked well, too well, in fact. My movements were sluggish and speech slurred at best. My warning never made it out in time.

Trotman stooped to pick up the pouch of Firestar root that had gone unseen by the Aurors. Nobody stopped him because he was dressed in Ministry issued robes and walked with a purpose. He walked right up to Charlotte's gurney and stopped. She blinked up at him with an unhealthy amount of adoration in her gaze. "Micah, you came back…"

"You murdered my family," he replied in a flat, toneless voice.

"They were Muggles, Mike. They could never love you like I can. I would die for you."

His mouth quirked at her last statement. The two men at either end of her gurney shifted nervously.

"Excuse us, detective," one of the porters said, "but we need to get her to St. Mungo's- what the …?"

Without word or warning, Trotman raised the pouch and dumped its contents over Charlotte's face. Agonizing, tormented screams pierced the air immediately. Her dark, hysterical eyes stood out against her bloody face in horror.

Trotman staggered back as she grasped at him, begging him to help, but he only watched. He watched in detachment as the skin of her tiny face blistered and peeled away to reveal more blood, flesh and bone. In an instant, the screams stopped and Charlotte's lifeless body hung from the gurney-her face turned in Trotman's direction, who had dropped to his knees and hung his head as the Aurors closed in on him.

My tiny living room filled beyond capacity in seconds. "Get Hermione out of here!" someone yelled.

I couldn't tear my eyes from Trotman as I was carted away from the scene. Avenging his family's deaths had done nothing to extinguish the self-loathing I knew he felt. All the hurt and torment and guilt he had experienced over the last five years would burn in him for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, my anger with Draco seemed insignificant and petty. I had come to realize many things this night: Someone, somewhere, would always be against any relationship between Draco and me. Their opposition could only make our bond stronger, but, if we were to have any kind of bond, I would have to trust him with every fiber of my being- which brought me to the incident in the stairwell of the Ministry.

Draco had once told me he would never purposely do anything to hurt or betray me, and I had believed him. Or, so I thought. If I really believed him, would I have so easily believed what my eyes interpreted as betrayal? And what _did_ my eyes see? Daphne pressed against Draco. He didn't move, he didn't embrace her; in fact, he seemed surprised. Draco wouldn't have come after me, risked his life, if his true feelings were for Daphne.

_No._

"Ms. Granger," the portable unit said, startling me from my thoughts. "We're going to have to move you around a bit when we take the Portkey to St. Mungo's."

I nodded.

The quick cadence of hurried footfalls came out of the silent night. "Wait, please, wait … I need to talk to-I need to talk to Hermione."

_Draco. _

The two porters stepped aside and wandered back into the house to be of use. Draco appeared at my side. He didn't speak, just studied my face with his scrutinizing stare. I suddenly felt very conscious of how awful I must look. I took little comfort in knowing that it was probably about as awful Draco.

His hair stood out in wet spikes from the rain. Most of the blood on his face had been wiped away, but his lip still seeped a bit. The knot on his head was beginning to form an ugly bruise, and all-round, he looked bone weary.

"You look terrible," he said, and softened the comment with a smile.

"So do you."

More silence passed between us.

"I hope you can believe me one day," he said grimly. "I would never hurt you. Daphne has nothing I want or need and-" I held up a hand to stop him, and he paused. "I know you don't want to hear it, Hermione, but it's the truth. She caught me off guard and, I just … shit, I don't know."

I shook my head. "Draco-"

"Damn it, I'm pants at stuff like this." He ran his fingers through his blonde spikes, the first nervous gesture I'd ever seen him make. "I wish I would have realized what I feel for you earlier. I don't think I have ever felt this way about anyone else and I would never-"

"Stop and listen to me, Draco." I pushedtwo fingers over his lips. I didn't care about the blood that was warm and sticky beneath my fingers. "Daphne and Charlotte set me up. They knew I would see the two of you kissing, and I just played right into their trap. I know you wouldn't hurt me. In fact, you saved me tonight, Draco. I was going to die and you saved me. I owe you my life."

"You don't owe me anything." He glanced over his shoulder and sighed. "I need to finish up here, and you need to get to St. Mungo's. I will be there as soon as I can." He pressed a quick kiss to my lips and I tasted the tangy, metallic taste of his blood. I nodded as he walked away and the two porters returned to my side.

Funny; his pure blood tasted no differently from mine.

"Ready, Ms. Granger?" one porter asked.

I watched Draco disappear into the house. Yes, I was ready.

The End.

* * *

AN: Phew! THANKS to everyone that stuck with the story for one whole year! Thanks to kamikaze-tryst, drcjsnider, bookofsecrets, kazfeist, and eilonwy for either beta reading or providing some kind of feedback that helped improve the story. And of course, I have appreciated all the reviews!

I hope I pleased those who were afraid of some long and drawn out angsty Dramione scene. Not my style, but it wouldn't be Dramione without _some_ angst!

So what's next? Well, this story has an epilogue, which will be posted within a few days...and then, I am working on another story that's been stewing for about a year. I do not expect to post it for a while. Maybe I'll throw in a one-shot in the meantime.

After that...who knows? But THANKS again!


	16. Epilogue

**Epilogue: Unthinkable**

Re-growing bones is a dreadful thing to experience; Harry has told me so.

Mending broken ones is nothing pleasant, either. Two very bitter potions and twenty-four hours later, my ribs were fully mended, yet I still hadn't been released. My left arm was still connected all manner of magical monitoring devices. Only Draco's presence had kept me from disconnecting the tubes and discharging myself from the Healers' care, whether they liked it or not.

Draco arrived at St. Mungo's seven hours after me, and hadn't left my side except to take care of his own injuries. Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction had taken care of the split lip and minor cuts. The nasty purple-black bruise near his left temple was the only thing left to mar his otherwise perfect face.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

I shifted and winced at the lingering tenderness beneath my right breast. Draco tensed. It was oddly amusing to see him watch me with what I couldn't describe as anything other than male protectiveness.

"Not really, I'd like to go home," I said. "I feel like I've spent more time in St. Mungo's beds than my own over the past few weeks."

Draco nodded. "I'll go see what's taking so long-"

Just as he stood, the medi-witch that had been tending to me came in with a cheerful smile. Her uniform was crisp and wrinkle free.

"Ms. Granger, how're we this fine morning?"

"Er, pardon me," Draco said. He walked up to her and flashed her a charming smile. "Ms. Granger would really like to go home. Her bones have been mended, why is she still being held?"

The medi-witch tightened her lips in a thin line, her bright blue eyes darted in my direction.

"Grace?" I intervened, suddenly alarmed. "Is something wrong?" She cast a wary glance in Draco's direction. "It's quite alright; you can speak in front of Draco. Please just tell me…"

"Ms. Granger, we've discovered something while running some tests. We really didn't want to say anything until we were sure, but-are you sure you'd like to hear this now?"

"More than anything. You're scaring me."

"We assumed you didn't know because you didn't ask about them. You're pregnant, Ms. Granger, with twins." She looked at Draco then back at me. "Congratulations," she added.

… _What?_

It must have been the potions messing with my head, because there was no way I heard her say I was pregnant with twins. Pregnant? Though… twins _were _common in my father's family. But, there had to have been a mistake. My hand absently came up to rest on my flat belly. Could it be true that there were people … growing inside of me? And, oh God-

Draco had frozen with a paper cup half-way to his mouth. His eyes were round as saucers, and he was, if possible, even paler than usual.

"Draco…"

Grace looked between us, no doubt figuring Draco as the father. "Oh, I-they're fine, the twins. You're barely six weeks along. I-I think I'd better leave you two alone; I shall return later with your release papers and preg-er, other information."

Draco immediately began pacing at the foot of the bed.

A great chasm seemed to open between us in the tiny hospital room, and it grew the longer we remained silent, but nothing helpful came to mind. Finally, he stopped his pacing and reclaimed the seat next to my bed.

"Are you all right?" I asked. But, of course he wasn't all right. _I _wasn't all right. We'd used the Contraceptive Charm. We were careful each time … weren't we? We'd only made love twice, and I was trying, but failing to remember the charm being cast the second time. I'd been stressed about the murders and the upcoming ball. Draco had just woken from sleep and in the heat of the moment…we forgot.

That night seemed like eons ago, and yet I remembered it vividly. How irresponsible I had been; how we had both been so consumed by our emotions. Ironically, it was only with Draco that I became that way, and now look where it had landed us. But as bad as the situation seemed, I couldn't bring myself to regret our predicament, not one bit.

"You're not happy," Draco said. It wasn't a question, but more of an observation. He looked exhausted; completely wrung out, but his eyes burned into mine, intense and alert.

"Are you?"

He licked his lips. "I had a conversation with my father once. It was right after he had been released from Azkaban, and I had gotten the job with the Ministry. He told me not to make the same mistakes he did. Not to confuse my ambitions and the things I want with the things I need the most. At the time, I had no idea what the hell he meant, but… I think I understand now."

My heart hammered against my rib cage and my body tingled with anticipation of the unknown; the unthinkable journey that I was about to make with Draco at my side…

"What?" I asked. "What is it that you understand, Draco?"

"That, I don't think this is the path I'd have chosen for us; definitely not so soon." He shrugged. "But, I couldn't possibly imagine it any other way.

"This changes everything, you know. Our lives will never be the same-"

Draco took my hand up in his. "I know."

I forced myself to say the next part; to watch his reaction as I said it. "They're— They're going to be half-blood. We're having two half-blood children, Draco. Are you all right with that? Your parents-"

He squeezed my hand tighter in his, effectively cutting off my ramblings. "God damn it, Hermione. How many times do I have to tell you? I don't give a shit about what anyone else thinks. I get to have children with a woman that I am completely, undeniably in love with. End of story."

"Really?"

"It's all about our family and bugger anyone else."

I was embarrassed at how widely I smiled at that those words.

_Our family._

_

* * *

_AN: Thanks kamikaze-tryst! _  
_


End file.
